


Settle In Among the Raincoats

by MissjuliaMiriam



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing Relationship, Founding of Konoha, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Multiple, Self-Esteem Issues, Senju Butsuma's A+ Parenting, Senju Tobirama Needs a Hug, Sibling Relationship, Slow Burn, Tobirama Whump, Uchiha Izuna Lives, Unreliable Narrator, mission fic (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: Everyone in the world has a gift from their soulmate: some inborn, characteristic ability passed from one soul to another along an intangible, unbreakable bond. Unbreakable, but not inviolate, at least to those willing to cross the boundary of sanity and ethics to exert control, as Hashirama—and then several others—discover, rather to their horror.(As far as anyone knows, Tobirama does not have a soulmate. And yet, secrets long buried do have their ways of making their way back to the light, and grave dirt does stain.)
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama, Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Tobirama & Uchiha Izuna, Senju Tobirama & Uzumaki Mito, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 77
Kudos: 978





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay shoutout to murmuredlullabye who fed me this concept and then my brain would NOT let it go, i am so sorry to anyone subbed for me for like, any other fandom, i promise this is an anomoly
> 
> This fic is COMPLETE at approx. 35k, but the latter two chapters still need some edits, so I'll be posting over the course of a week or so, I expect. 
> 
> It is also, uh. So, disclaimer: when I say "slow burn" I mean "no one gets to smooch in this fic except for the pre-established couples". However, there's LOTS of room for expansion in this universe and (especially if there's enthusiasm for it) I will likely be writing some fluffier and shippy-er follow-ups. But I didn't want to let anyone down too hard, so, yeah, I'm warning up front that they really only BEGIN the process of getting together in this fic. It's much more a fic about, uh, Tobirama's baggage, and about his relationships with like... everyone BUT Madara, basically. The ship is there! It's just not the focus.
> 
> That said, I really needed to get this one out of my brain, so... here it is! Enjoy, I guess!
> 
> Oh, and: title is from Ezra Furman's "Compulsive Liar", which is on the playlist for this AU, [which you can find here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ygRxyVvOvcBbWyD4sp42U?si=RgOLVwHvSWaMCMzQaVD7zw)

“Enough!” Hashirama’s hands slam down on the table, and the room falls silent. It is as much from surprise as anything, Tobirama thinks; neither of the Uchiha in the room have likely ever heard Hashirama raise his voice in anger, and even he has heard it only rarely. There’s a pause, and then Hashirama lets a breath out through his nose very slowly and says, “Enough. This must stop.”

“If  _ he _ —” Izuna starts, thrusting a finger at Tobirama. Tobirama bristles.

“No.” Hashirama doesn’t shout this time, but his voice cuts through anyhow, stopping Izuna’s words in their tracks. “There will be no more laying of blame, no more endless  _ he said _ , none of it. We are building a lasting peace in this village, and it’s one that we as leaders have to model for the rest of those who come to live here. I’m putting a stop to this now, today.”

He reaches down and opens a drawer in the desk. From within, he withdraws a mission request, a moderately girthy scroll marked with a red flag—dangerous, then. “Here’s what’s going to happen: Izuna, Tobirama, the two of you will form a two man team to undertake this mission. You  _ will _ work as a team in order to accomplish it, neither of you will sabotage it to make the other look bad, and when you return, this petty, childish bickering will be over. Am I clear?”

Tobirama purses his lips briefly, then blanks his expression and says, “Yes, anija.” There’s no point in arguing; even if it were not clear that Hashirama is at the end of his rope, these are orders from their Hokage. Hopefully Izuna will be prepared to respect that, or else Tobirama will be forced to endure his jabs in silence going forward, for he has no intention of disobeying. 

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Izuna mutters. Clearly he understands the situation as well. Good. “Do we leave immediately?”

“The mission is to Kiyowara estate, two days at civilian pace southwest of Keishi. Prepare for six to ten days of mission time, with everything you need to execute a high-risk low-profile escort mission with potential for combat, and return in two hours’ time for a full briefing,” Hashirama says, the mantle of Hokage having slid over his shoulders fully now. “And prepare yourselves to  _ get along _ for the duration, or I swear, I  _ will _ have Mitsuko-san sew a giant shirt and you  _ will _ be wearing it together until you’re friends.”

The worst part is that Tobirama does not doubt the veracity of this deeply stupid threat at all. He just sighs as minutely as he can, bows to his Hokage—and his idiot brother, who are unfortunately the same person—and makes a rapid series of seals to flash back to the Hiraishin marker in his apartment. No point dilly-dallying.

Tobirama knows the location of all his mission gear like the back of his hand—better, actually—and so it’s only the work of some fifteen minutes to be packed and ready. He refills Mochi’s timed feeder and writes a note to leave for Sarutobi-san, his mostly-nocturnal kunoichi neighbour, to ask her to look in a few times and refill the feeder again if Tobirama is gone longer than expected. He says goodbye to his cat, giving her long white hair a few strokes, and then heads to his laboratory to ensure the place is locked and none of the longer-term experimental procedures will explode, degrade, or otherwise cause issues if left unattended. It takes nearly an hour of careful checking and double-checking to be certain, and each step he records what he’s done and what the state of each experiment is. He won’t remember just at a glance, after all, and doesn’t have time to spent staring at each one, narrating as he usually does in order to fix the details into his memory. It’s aggravating, of course; he’d much prefer to have the time to close up his lab properly and ensure that he can recall what he’s done, but a look isn’t enough. Once, years ago, it was, but Tobirama has lost that part of his memory now and no amount of sighing will bring it back.

With his lab squared away, Tobirama locks the door and heads back to his home to retrieve his bag, then walks to Hokage Tower. It’s fifteen minutes at a civilian pace, which is enough time that he’s only a few minutes early, and more importantly has time to settle his temper before he has to deal with Izuna.

Unfortunately, the time to meditate on his walk means that the Uchiha has beaten him to the tower. Dark hair, high collared black shirt, no uchiwa marking now because this is a stealth mission—could be anyone, but the ponytail says  _ Izuna _ and Tobirama nods politely when the other man looks up.

“Senju,” the Uchiha says, and yes, that’s Izuna’s voice. His chakra, too, when Tobirama turns to that sense for a third confirmation. It wouldn’t do to repeat the incident where he’d mistaken Izuna for the younger Uchiha who functions as a runner within Hokage Tower—once had been bad enough. Tobirama studies his features briefly, wonders if maybe this mission together will finally be enough time to fix them in his mind or if his memory for new visual information is finally gone altogether, and then nods back. 

“Uchiha.” He comes to stand beside Izuna, leaning against the wall outside the Hokage’s office, and settles in to wait.

It’s only a few minutes before they’re called in. Hashirama is standing behind his desk, and he passes over the scroll before briefing them briskly. The mission is an escort, as Hashirama had said: a noble daughter and her infant son need to be escorted safely and secretly from the estate of her father, a high-ranking diplomat in the daimyo’s court, to her husband, an equally politically noteworthy up-and-comer, who had made his home in the capital. They’d been attacked in significant force on the initial journey, and their guards had only barely been enough to repel the enemy shinobi; they’re taking no chances for the return. Simple enough, though Izuna and Tobirama will need to be very much on their guard.

“Any further information?” Izuna asks, his tone professional, when Hashirama has finished.

“Not mission-relevant,” the Hokage says. “But the lady and her husband are soulmates, and he is paying very well for assurance of her safety. Ensuring this mission is a success could win us a very valuable ally in the daimyo’s court, so you must succeed.”

“Understood,” Tobirama says with a nod. “We will not fail you, Hokage-sama.”

Hashirama smiles then, breaking through the mask of professionalism. “I don’t doubt it. Now go on, you two.”

They both bow deeply to their leader and make for the window, Tobirama taking the lead in leaping out and across the roofs toward the village gates. They’ll move quickly for the first leg, heading nearly due south to Kiyowara estate; it’s about two days at ninja pace, and then a further two days at civilian pace if nothing goes wrong from there to Keishi, and then a day and a half at ninja pace back to Konoha from the capital. It’s not an unreasonably long mission by any means, but Tobirama should be forgiven for not being particularly excited about spending that length of time alone with a man who certainly hates him. 

He lets loose a small breath as they pass the gate with a nod to the guards—a Nara and an Uchiha, today—and take to the trees. Beside him, Izuna glances over at him and says, “What are you sighing about, Senju?”

“Nothing,” Tobirama says, lighting briefly on a tree branch before pushing off again. 

“This is going to be a long mission if you’re gonna be a surly asshole the entire time.”

Tobirama purses his lips. “I apologize if my preference for silence offends you, Uchiha-san.”

“Do what you want,” Izuna huffs, and mercifully focuses on running.

The day passes in silence, which suits Tobirama just fine. They’re equally able to maintain a quick pace, stopping only for a short break in the mid-afternoon to rehydrate and eat while the hottest part of the day passes, and then they go on again. They’re making good time, and Tobirama expects they’ll arrive at Kiyowara estate around noon the following day, if his sense of their distance from Konoha and the cluster of familiar chakra signatures there is anything to go by. 

Around dusk, they find a small gap in the trees with suitable undergrowth to set up a camouflaged shelter, which Tobirama wordlessly sets about doing while Izuna collects wood and uses a small katon to light it. “Can you tolerate spice?” Izuna says as he pulls out a tiny aluminum pot from his pack and sets about making dinner.

“... I don’t prefer it,” Tobirama admits, tying off a knot on the tarp he’s hanging. “I can tolerate it, however.”

Izuna snorts. “I’ll go easy on you, then, Senju.” He assembles the meal quickly, putting together a fast instant curry from dried ingredients, and Tobirama draws a dish from his own lightweight mess kit in order to receive his portion once he’s done setting up the shelter.

“Itadakimasu,” he murmurs, and Izuna echoes him, sitting down beside him with his own food.

The first bite proves the meal surprisingly edible, and not too spicy, though Tobirama can imagine how it might have easily been so. He hesitates for a moment, thinks of Hashirama’s disappointed expression if they come back from this mission still at odds, and says, “It’s good.”

“... Thanks,” Izuna says, after a second of surprised delay. “Madara can’t cook for shit, so I had to learn.”

Draw a kunai, draw a katana, Tobirama supposes. If he hasn’t put his foot in his mouth instantly he might manage some conversation. “You didn’t have servants?”

Izuna shakes his head and finishes chewing his bite of curry before he says, “Tou-san didn’t like having other people in the house all the time.”

“Hm.” Tobirama takes a considering bite of his food, then quietly offers, “Chichiue had no interest in doing the housework, or in wasting our time on chores when we could be training.”

“That sounds about right,” Izuna snorts. “Everything I’ve heard about Senju Butsuma makes him sound like a sanctimonious asshole. Of  _ course _ he couldn’t be bothered with doing the dishes every once in a while.”

Tobirama bristles, then forces himself to relax. Izuna isn’t wrong—Butsuma  _ was _ condescending, and didn’t lower himself to menial tasks. He was more concerned with the business of war… at all times. 

He makes to reply, but Izuna says abruptly, “Sorry. That was rude. I know he was your father.”

“Thank you,” Tobirama says. He clears his throat. “I understand why you feel that way about him, but I ask you not speak badly about him in front of me.”

“Sure,” Izuna says, his voice a bit quiet. “So long as you do the same.”

Tobirama shrugs. “I have no such negative impression of Uchiha Tajima to express.”

That draws a startled noise out of Izuna, and Tobirama glances over to see him looking at him with wide eyes. “You hate the Uchiha, though,” Izuna says, sounding quite confident that this is a fact. “Of course you think our dad was an asshole.”

Tobirama frowns, then shakes his head. “I respect your clan,” he says. “I believe your father was… mercenary, even cruel, but not more so than chichi-ue, or more than was understandable for the time. I do not have to agree with the policies and strategies of our fathers in order to see why they felt such things were necessary, and respect their dedication to the protection of their respective clans.” 

Everything falls silent for a few minutes, and Tobirama wonders, a bit belatedly, whether he’s said too much. He knows such sentiments are what have caused his own clan to consider him cold and unfeeling, a stone statue with a blade in hand more than a man. Maybe Izuna, with his heart of fire, will feel the same. At least such disgust for Tobirama’s nature is something he’s used to, and should be easier to deal with than Izuna’s eternal irritation at his existence and anger at comments that Tobirama never meant to be taken as insults.

But after a while, Izuna says, “I see. Well, that’s… interesting.”

To that, Tobirama has nothing to say. He doesn’t know what it means, and a glance at Izuna’s face—fine boned and still unfamiliar, though that much is normal—doesn’t illuminate him. So he stays silent, finishes his dinner, and holds out his hand in a silent demand to Izuna to surrender his also-empty dish to be washed. Izuna rolls his eyes and does so, then goes to put out the fire while Tobirama uses a small suiton to swirl water over the dishes and the cooking pot, cleaning them sufficiently for now. With darkness setting in and his chore finished, Tobirama ducks into the small shelter to set out his bedroll. Izuna does the same, then says, “I’ll take first watch.”

“Fine.” Tobirama removes his armour and his faceguard and lies down. It’s still fairly early, but he needs the sleep; he drops off almost instantly.

He’s woken some hours later by Izuna, who’s only a shadow against shadows in the blackness of the night. Tobirama suppresses his irritation at his terrible night vision not for the first time and touches a hand to Izuna’s shoulder, then forms a hand signal for  _ all clear _ against it. A moment later, Izuna presses an  _ affirmative _ against Tobirama’s shoulder in turn, and then goes to lie down in silence; his breathing suggests that he’s asleep quickly, the same as Tobirama had been. Tobirama doesn’t bother to crawl out of the shelter, since he won’t be able to see regardless, and instead sits up on his bedroll and uses Izuna’s soft and steady breathing as a focus to sink into meditation, stretching his senses to keep careful watch for any chakra nearing them, or for any sound in the night.

The hours before dawn pass quickly, and soon birds begin to sing. Tobirama opens his eyes to find that the faintest light has begun to creep in, and he leans over to nudge Izuna.

“Morning,” Izuna says after a moment, coming awake blessedly quickly. “Anything?”

“No,” Tobirama murmurs. “All quiet.”

“Great. Porridge?”

Tobirama shakes his head. “We should get moving.”

“Alright.” They make quick work of packing up camp and eat a fast breakfast of ration bars and some berries scavenged from a nearby bush, then begin to run once again. A few hours will bring them to the estate, and Tobirama wants this mission done with. He has a headache, which is normal, but not worth spending extra time and prolonging the period for which he needs suffer it outside of the comfort of his own home. At least it doesn’t seem about to progress into a migraine.

It’s hot that day and the forest is a rich bright green around them, smelling of moss and sun-warmed earth. The foliage is thick, enough to keep the beams of bright light from striking at Tobirama’s sensitive eyes and making the pain clutching his skull worse. Izuna keeps quiet, and after last night’s near-disaster of a conversation Tobirama is more than happy to do the same. Instead he focuses on speed, letting his feet touch only lightly on the branches that they dark across. Fire Country is lush and lovely, and not for the first time he thinks how little he envies the citizens of Wind or Earth Countries. While he might wish sometimes for a little more access to water, the Naka runs strong and the temperate, occasionally humid nature of the forest is enough that his suiton are strong. He’s grateful to live here.

As midday approaches and it warms up even further, Izuna draws even with Tobirama and flashes him two rapid hand signs:  _ rest-interrogative? _

Tobirama hesitates a moment, stretches his senses to find Hashirama’s distant swell of verdant chakra and gauges the distance. They should be nearly at the estate by now.  _ Require _ - _ interrogative _ ? he returns.

Izuna shrugs.  _ Distance; ETA-interrogative? _

_ Unsure; imminent _ , Tobirama signs.

Izuna nods.  _ Require-negative; continue _ , he replies, and Tobirama nods back. They press on.

It’s early afternoon when they break out of the trees onto a road, and by silent consensus land together and take up a more normal walking pace as they approach the estate. It’s a secluded place, but there are some home and farms along the way as they draw in closer which surely support the lord who lives here and his servants. There aren’t many people out, and those who are don’t take much notice of them; they move on quickly, headed for the sprawling house at the end of the road. 

“You’ll take the lead?” Izuna asks in an undertone, when they’re only a minute from the wall around the estate and its gate, minded by a single samurai. 

“If you wish,” Tobirama says. 

“All yours.”

Ahead of them, the samurai on guard straightens and lays a hand on the hilt of his katana. “Who comes?” he calls in a stentorian voice. 

“Shinobi of Konoha,” Tobirama says. “We have been contracted by your lord to undertake some work for him.”

A look of recognition passes over the samurai’s face. “Right. Enter, then. The lord is expecting your arrival.”

Tobirama nods, and the samurai opens the gate for them, letting them enter a tidy courtyard. Ahead there are wide paper doors, slid open at present to allow the warm air into the front room of the manor, and they’re greeted by a servant there and led deeper into the house. Finally, they come to a receiving chamber, where an older man in an elaborate kimono is sitting, a young woman in equally fine clothing at his side. She has a baby in her arms and resembles him, so this must be the woman they’re to escort. Tobirama makes another polite bow, then kneels on the tatami across from the lord.

“Welcome, shinobi-san,” the lord says, with a nod of his head. “Thank you for coming so promptly in response to my request.”

“Konoha is pleased to assist you, Kiyowara-dono,” Tobirama says. 

“I assume the two of you are quite capable, to be only two against could be a significant force?”

“Yes,” Tobirama says. “I am the brother of Senju Hashirama-sama, the Hokage, and my comrade, Izuna-san, is the brother of Uchiha Madara-sama, their clan head. We are considered second only to our brothers in martial prowess, which makes us amongst the strongest in our village. We anticipate no difficulties in keeping your honoured daughter safe.”

“Excellent.” The lord nods to his daughter, who makes a slightly awkward bow over her knees; in her arms, the baby makes a displeased noise. “Kiyomi-chan and Mitsuo-kun are prepared to leave whenever you wish.”

Tobirama shoots a glance over at Izuna, who makes a small hand-sign in his lap:  _ now _ .

“Leaving as soon as possible would be good, in that case,” Tobirama says, turning his gaze back to the lord. “We will be travelling off the road for the sake of stealth, and will need the daylight.”

“I see.” The lord looks again at his daughter. “Fetch your things, musume.”

“Yes, tou-sama.” The woman rises, makes a bow to her father, then steps past a screen into another room. There’s a few minutes’ delay, passed in silence, and then she returns, dressed in more practical clothing and with the baby in a sling tied to her chest; in her hands are a medium-sized backpack and a smaller bag, the latter clearly meant to go over her shoulder.

“We can assist in carrying your things,” Tobirama says. “Is this all?”

“The rest of her things are being sent in a caravan,” the lord says. “Your assistance is appreciated, however.”

Without Tobirama needing to ask, Izuna steps forward and takes the larger bag, simply holding it for now. Tobirama has a storage scroll and will seal it once they’re gone from the manor. For now, he rises as well and bows again to the lord. “We will see your daughter safely to Keishi, Kiyowara-dono.”

“I do not doubt it, Senju-san,” the lord says, and then his mild expression sharpens. “Or else I will ensure that news of your failing reaches the ear of every noble of any importance everywhere in Fire Country, and beyond our borders beside.”

Tobirama resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead simply says, “Of course.”

Mercifully, Kiyomi-san keeps her goodbyes with her father brief. She slings her bag over her shoulder, and then they’re out of the manor and back on the road. Dressed-down as she now is, Kiyomi-san doesn’t attract much attention, and they make their way back past houses and farms until they come to a place where they’ll be able to take to the forest. Tobirama steps off the road and into the eaves, and leads the way some ten minutes into the brush before holding up a hand to call a halt and says, “Izuna-san, please pass me Kiyomi-san’s bag.”

“Ah,” Izuna says. “You have a seal?”

“Yes.” Tobirama withdraws the small scroll from the holster tied to his leg, and in the work of a few moments, the bag vanishes.

Kiyomi-san makes a small noise of surprise. Tobirama looks up and says, “No need to worry, Kiyomi-san. Your things will be easily retrieved.”

“Of course,” she says. Her voice is soft and sweet, and as she speaks she reaches up to cradle the back of her child’s head. “Mitsuo-kun’s things are there.”

“How old is your son?” Izuna asks, stepping closer to peer at the baby. He’s wrapped close to his mother’s chest, but not so close that he can’t turn and look at Izuna with dark eyes and make another indistinct noise.

“A year,” Kiyomi-san says, and smiles. “He’s a good boy, and doesn’t cry much, but I apologize in advance if he bothers you, shinobi-san.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Izuna says, and grins a little. “I like babies.”

Tobirama can’t say the same. He likes  _ children _ , when they are old enough to think and ask questions, have personalities of their own. Babies… he doesn’t mind them, likes them well enough, but he has much less experience and that makes him nervous. Few parents trust them with their children as it is, never mind with their  _ infants _ .

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, smiling back at Izuna. “Should we get moving?”

“Yes,” Tobirama says, stepping forward. “I can carry you for some time, if you would like.”

“Oh!” Kiyomi-san looks surprised, but then she nods. “Okay. That would make the travel easier. I don’t mind walking, but haven’t done so much of it…”

“We were prepared for that,” Izuna says in a warm, easy tone. “I can take your smaller bag, if you’d like to have Mitsuo-kun on your back?”

“Alright.” There’s a moment where they shuffle things around, Izuna taking her small pack and slinging it across his own back, and then he accepts the baby when she pulls him out of the sling and cradles him while she adjusts the sling. With careful hands, Izuna slides the baby back into the sling, now held safely against her back, and then Kiyomi-san turns back to Tobirama. “I’m ready now, shinobi-san.”

“Tobirama is fine,” he murmurs, and offers her his back, kneeling so that she can climb on piggy-back style more easily. 

“Thank you then, Tobirama-san.” She clambers on a little awkwardly, and Tobirama tucks his hands under her thighs to secure her while she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He ignores the faint flinch when he touches her; it’s an intimate touch, and he knows he can be unnerving. He doesn’t begrudge her some distaste. Then he rises smoothly to his feet and looks over at Izuna.

“Onward then, Senju,” Izuna says, and the two of them take to the trees once more.

Their pace is much slower now than it had been while on the way to the estate, of course. Tobirama and Izuna can share Kiyomi-san’s weight by turns, but carrying someone is still a significant burden and will reduce their stamina a great deal if they don’t pace themselves. As well, they only manage two hours of travel before Mitsuo-kun begins to cry, and they need to stop so that Kiyomi-san can check on him. As it turns out, he’s hungry, and they’re delayed a half-hour while she feeds him, a large kimono top draped around her shoulders for privacy while Tobirama and Izuna stand guard. They manage to travel a while longer after that, with Kiyomi-san now on Izuna’s back, but it begins to grow dark and they’re forced to stop again and make camp.

Tobirama sets about unsealing supplies while Izuna makes another fire, as he had the previous night. Tobirama passes Kiyomi-san’s bag over to her, and she goes about changing Mitsuo-kun’s diaper, while Tobirama unseals another scroll and draws out a larger tent and collapsable cot, brought specifically for the sake of their civilian charge. He also unseals additional rations which he passes to Izuna, who starts making miso soup while Tobirama sets up the shelters.

“Shall I hunt?” Tobirama asks quietly, once he’s finished.

“Might be nice,” Izuna admits. “Have you got it?”

“Not a problem.” Animal chakra is slipperier, harder to get a good sense of, but with so few people around to distract his senses Tobirama has no doubts about his ability to hunt several birds, and darts out of the camp to do just that. A half hour later he returns with three small game hens strung on a bit of ninja wire, already plucked and gutted so that Kiyomi-san needn’t see that work done, to find her and Izuna sitting by the fire sipping soup and talking quietly.

“—soulmate,” Kiyomi-san is saying when Tobirama comes into earshot, and he suppresses the instant urge to turn around and walk right back out of their camp. “He’s such a gentle man. I have his intuition for people; I believe he got an ear for musical pitch from me.”

“Those are lovely gifts,” Izuna says quietly, sounding a bit wistful. “I wish I’d gotten to meet my soulmate—I think they were a civilian, my gift was just an enhancement to my sense of taste. But it faded when I was eighteen, so they must have passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Kiyomi-san exclaims. “That must be terrible, to be alone.”

Izuna shrugs easily, as if his confession hasn’t rooted Tobirama to the spot, as frozen as the statue people accuse him of being. “It’s sad, yes,” he says, “but not as bad as if I’d met them first, then lost them. Or if they were a ninja from an enemy clan, and I’d been forced to fight against them or their family.”

“I’m back,” Tobirama says, perhaps a bit too loud. Kiyomi-san jumps, but Izuna just turns and glances over his shoulder. No surprise he knew he was there, really; Tobirama hadn’t tried to be more quiet than normal.

“Nice catch,” Izuna says, breaking off from his conversation. He makes a grabby-hand gesture for the birds, and Tobirama passes them over. Izuna makes quick work of spitting the birds and begins roasting them while Tobirama comes to sit down.

“What about yourself, Tobirama-san? Have you met your soulmate?” Kiyomi-san asks once he’s seated.

Tobirama lets out a slow breath through his nose. He would rather not discuss this, but saying so would certainly raise Izuna’s suspicions. “I do not know who they are,” he says, which is honest enough. “The gift I got from them is very strong, but as I have no training with it, I do not use it. It would be dangerous.”

“What is it?” Izuna asks from where he’s coaxing the fire larger with his chakra.

“I would rather not say,” Tobirama says, more bluntly than he probably should.

“... Ah,” Izuna says, his expression closing off. “Right. Whatever.”

Tobirama clears his throat and looks away from Izuna. So much for the growing rapport between them. He turns back to Kiyomi-san instead. “Suffice to say, Kiyomi-san, a shinobi’s soulmate is often more difficult to find than a civilian’s. We have many more obstacles in the way.”

“I am coming to see that,” she says. “Well. I’m very sorry to hear it.” Then, inexplicably, she reaches out and tucks Mitsuo-kun into his arms. “Here, hold him.”

“I—ah.” Tobirama fumbles for a minute, more clumsy than he’s ever been in his life, then firms his grip and carefully cradles the baby’s head. Mitsuo-kun is still awake, and looking down into his face Tobirama decides that not remembering anyone’s face does have one benefit: he gets to enjoy beauty anew every time. The baby has soft, round cheeks, and liquid black eyes that look up at him with wonder, a feeling which Tobirama returns. Unbidden, the hand not wrapped under the baby comes up to stroke Mitsuo-kun’s cheek.

“Ba,” says the baby.

“I see,” Tobirama murmurs. 

By the fire, Izuna snorts. Tobirama jerks his head up, affronted, and snaps, “What, Uchiha?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Izuna says, sounding amused. He waves his hand carelessly, then turns the spitted birds. “Just funny to see the dreaded Senju Tobirama go totally gaga for a baby.”

“I was not  _ gaga _ ,” Tobirama says. “He— I—”

“It’s fine!” Izuna says. “Seriously, I’m not making fun. It’s cute.”

He  _ is _ making fun, but Tobirama is not going to start a fight. He’s  _ not _ . “Kiyomi-san,” he says stiffly, “you should take your son back. I am unused to holding infants.”

“Alright, Tobirama-san,” she says. She does take him, although he thinks she might just be humouring him, and he tries not to regret the loss of the small warmth that had briefly rested in his arms. 

He had perhaps been a  _ little _ gaga, not that he’s going to admit as much to Izuna, even on pain of death.

Tobirama sighs and rises to fetch his dish from his mess kit, then serve himself some soup while he waits for the meat to be finished. They’ll need to be vigilant tonight, but his suspicion is that if there is to be an attack, it will come tomorrow, probably in the night. 

Eventually, the remainder of the meal is prepared and they all eat a small second course of roasted meat, the leftovers of which Tobirama seals into a stasis seal that Mito had helped him design last year. Kiyomi-san retires to her tent shortly after, and soon her voices comes through the canvas, singing a lullaby to Mitsuo-kun.

“She’s less fussy than I expected from a noblewoman,” Izuna says in a soft voice. He leans back on his hands and tilts his head to regard Tobirama with dark eyes. 

“Yes,” Tobirama acknowledges, when it seems that Izuna is waiting for an answer.

“...You’re so fucking weird,” Izuna sighs in response.

Tobirama tenses. “I apologize.”

“That’s not—seriously, not everything I say to you is meant as an insult.” Izuna says. “It was just an observation. Do you not have normal conversations ever? Make small talk?”

“No,” Tobirama says. “Few people desire or enjoy conversation with me. Including you, as far as I understand.”

“Maybe I’d enjoy it more if you  _ calmed down _ and stopped taking everything the wrong way.”

“I am calm,” Tobirama says. He is. Mostly. “You also routinely take things I say to be more insulting than I intend them to be, so I don’t see why you should take such offence when the misunderstanding flows both ways. Part of anija’s intent in sending us on this mission together was to smooth such difficulties, I believe.”

Izuna purses his lips. “I guess you’re right. Well, whatever. We can play nice in front of the Hokage from now on, but that doesn’t mean we have to like each other.”

Tobirama lets out a slow breath. Yes, tolerance is enough to ask for. He  _ does _ respect Izuna and his clan, whatever the Uchiha chooses to believe about him, and if that respect can be returned and the enmity between them comes to a rest, he will call this mission a success in all ways. “Indeed,” he says. “Shall I take first watch?”

“Sure, whatever.” Izuna rises from the ground then and stretches. “You going to do your weird sensor meditation thing from inside the shelter again tonight?”

“No, I’ll sit by Kiyomi-san’s tent.”

“Mm, right. Alright. G’night then, Senju.” Izuna turns toward the shelter, then pauses. “And, hey—sorry for prying about your soulmate. I do get not wanting to talk about it.”

“It is fine,” Tobirama says, nods his head politely, and goes to find a comfortable place to kneel for his  _ weird sensor meditation thing _ as Izuna had put it. Dusk is falling, the fire burning low, and Tobirama expands his senses, watchful.

* * *

“Hashirama-sama?”

Hashirama looks up from his desk. One of the Senju elders, Yoshiaki, has paused in the doorway in his office and bowed. “Yoshiaki-ojiisan,” he says with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in.” He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, which the elder takes with a satisfied sigh. “What can I do for you today, Honoured Elder?”

“Ah, I came to ask if you’d seen your brother recently,” Yoshiaki says. “I have been searching for him these past two days.”

“Oh!” Hashirama frowns. The elders rarely take an interest in Tobirama’s comings and goings. “Unfortunately he’s out of the village at the moment.”

The elder blanches. “When is he due back?”

“Not for another three or four days at least.” Izuna and Tobirama had left on their mission two days ago, and for all their combined speed, they  _ will _ be literally babysitting a civilian for a while. “What’s the matter? I’m sure I can help.”

Yoshiaki runs a hand over his face. “Perhaps it will be fine,” he mutters, looking deeply concerned. “But I confess my shock at your sending him away so close to the tenth anniversary of the sealing. Did you forget it would need to be redone?”

Hashirama feels the frown on his face deepen. “Sealing?”

There’s a long pause, and then Yoshiaki says, “The seal on your brother, Hashirama-sama.”

“ _ What _ seal?” Hashirama has never heard of such a thing. And from ten years ago? Tobirama would have only been twelve, what—no. No way. “Yoshiaki-san, you will explain yourself.”

The elder swallows. He realizes, it seems, that he must tread carefully. Hashirama can feel his temper stirring, the green swell of the forest’s wrath, and stifles it for now. “By order of your much-honoured late father,” the elder says, “an… aspect of your brother’s ability was sealed ten years ago. The seal must be reapplied every ten years. I assisted in contracting the services of a seal master at that time, and assumed your father would leave the necessary information to you.”

“My father never said anything about this to me,” Hashirama says. His voice is very flat, he knows. It’s the best he can do. “What does the seal do, Yoshiaki-san?”

“It—ah, well—”

Hashirama closes his eyes. “You know your being so reluctant to explain is doing you no favours right now.”

“I… see this, Hashirama-sama.” When Hashirama opens his eyes again, the elder has gone very pale indeed, and shrunk down in his chair. He’s an old man, and looks quite pitiful at the moment. “You must understand, it was by your father’s order. He deemed it necessary.”

“My father deemed a lot of things necessary, very few of which I agreed with, then or now,” Hashirama says. He rises from his chair to plant his hands on his desk and lean forward. “ _ What was the seal for _ .”

“It sealed his soulmate gift.”

Hashirama lets out a very long, very slow breath. He cannot, he reminds himself, kill Yoshiaki. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his  _ idea _ , and he had no idea that Hashirama has spent  _ ten years _ in complete ignorance to the fact that his father had commanded his younger brother be  _ mutilated _ . “I see.”

“... I, well, I do not know entirely why Butsuma-sama was so intent on it,” Yoshiaki says, his voice trembling. “Tobirama-sama’s gift must have been very dangerous. And, ah… although I understand the sealing to have some risks, he has seemed to have no difficulties as a result.”

“Was Tobirama aware that this was done?” Hashirama asks. That’s the only thing he can imagine that would make this… he doesn’t know. Worse, if Tobirama knew and never said? Better, because at least he simply believed he had no soulmate and didn’t realize what their father had done to him? Maybe worse either way, if this had been done to him and he never knew  _ why _ .

“He… he was, Hashirama-sama. He agreed to the procedure.”

Whatever look comes across Hashirama’s face then, Yoshiaki flinches from it. “I see,” he says again. “Will the seal break on its own if not reinforced?”

“I am unsure, Hashirama-sama.”

“Who did the sealing?”

“Uzumaki Kenzou-san,” Yoshiaki says. “A seal master of some renown, though… somewhat distant from his clan, as I understand it.”

Hashirama knows that name. Mito had mentioned him once, as an exile sent out of Whirlpool on account of his highly unscrupulous and unethical experimentation with soulmate bonds. That man, she’d said, had crossed lines that even Tobirama with his boundless curiosity would flinch from. He has to take another deep breath. “He is considered a criminal by his clan, in fact,” he says bluntly, which draws a flinch from the elder. “If you receive rumour of him, you will pass it to the intelligence division immediately.”

“Yes, Hashirama-sama.”

“As for this seal on Tobirama, you will assemble all you know  _ today _ and have it brought to my office. Whatever harm may have been done to him, even the smallest bit, I…” Hashirama wants very badly to inflict a punishment. Something, anything, to gain some small measure of justice for the harm he is  _ sure _ has been done. But he doesn’t know enough yet, doesn’t know what gift Tobirama has that might have led Butsuma to feel this was justified, doesn’t know how complicit Yoshiaki really was, or even what the seal has done to his brother. Until he does, he can do nothing.

“I understand, Hashirama-sama.” Yoshiaki rises from his chair and bows. “I will bring the documents as soon as I may.”

“You will send a runner with them instead,” Hashirama says, with a wave of his hand. “If I see your face again before I have time to understand this, I can’t guarantee I won’t hurt you, and we have yet to see if you would deserve it.”

“I-I… ah. Yes, sir.” Another deep bow, and then, wisely, the elder makes himself scarce.

Hashirama slumps down into his chair again and covers his face with his hands. His little brother. His little brother whose soulmate Hashirama has always believed was dead, or maybe a civilian with a gift indistinguishable from Tobirama’s own natural abilities, or… something. In an uncharitable moment as a spiteful teenager, he’d once wondered if Tobirama  _ had _ no soulmate, cold as he could be sometimes. He’s always known, though, that there was no way that was true, even beyond the fact that everyone has a soulmate. Tobirama is clever and passionate, and he’s deeply loyal and loving beneath his chilly exterior. Much as Hashirama hasn’t always understood his brother—often misunderstands him terribly, in fact—he’s always loved him and known himself to be loved in return. And he’s always grieved on Tobirama’s behalf, Tobirama who never seemed to care so much about it, that his brother might well never have his other half to hold and cherish the way that Hashirama has Mito.

This… this is beyond anything he could have imagined. He doesn’t know what to do. And, as he often does when he doesn’t know what to do, he scrubs his hands over his eyes to banish the tears gathering there, picks himself up, and goes to find his wife.

She’s in the Tower at least, though she’s in the middle of a meeting with several clerks responsible for… Hashirama isn’t sure, mercantile taxation or something else boring and necessary like that. He doesn’t care. If the Hokage’s not allowed to interrupt his wife’s meetings when he’s having a crisis, what the hell is the point of the hat?

And bless Mito, bless her so much, she takes one look at his face and says, “The remainder of this meeting can wait until later. Please leave.”

The clerks look at each other and obey without question, because that’s what one does when Mito says  _ please _ in that tone. As soon as they’re gone, Hashirama closes the door and goes to her. Mito opens her arms, and he folds himself down into her embrace, because he can’t do anything else right now except allow the cracks to show. He can’t break, not now, not when he doesn’t know… anything. But he can bend his head to her shoulder, let her pet his hair, and shed a few tears into the fine fabric of her kimono.

“Oh, my dear,” she says, and guides them to kneel together on the floor. There’s furniture somewhere in the room, probably, but none of it suitable for a cuddle, which is what Hashirama desperately needs right now.

“It—he—”

“It’s fine. Give yourself a moment.” She strokes his hair again. Hashirama sniffles like a child and gives thanks to the gods not for the first time for her patience.

It takes him a few minutes to collect himself again, and when he leans back from her arms she immediately reaches into her sleeve and withdraws a handkerchief. Endlessly practical, that’s his wife; he musters teary thanks and then blows his nose so that he doesn’t sound completely foolish and weepy as he tries to explain the situation. Composure now, further breakdown later. 

“What happened?” Mito says, when he lowers the handkerchief.

“I was visited by Yoshiaki-san.” Her gaze sharpens a little at his choice of address, but she just nods. “He… gods, Mito. They sealed Tobirama’s soulmate gift.”

“ _ What?” _

Hashirama nods in agreement with the instant fury in her voice. “Ten years ago.”

“Hashirama—”

“I had no idea, I  _ swear _ , but the elder and my father… they contracted Uzumaki Kenzou to do it.” Hashirama has to take a deep breath. “Apparently the anniversary of the sealing is this week, and he expected me to  _ redo it _ . He thought I knew.”

“You would  _ never _ ,” Mito says, with such absolute confidence that Hashirama can’t do anything else but stoop to kiss her. 

“No, never,” he says, when they part again. “But… I have no idea what the seal looks like, what it might have done to him over all this time. He’s seemed  _ fine _ .”

“You know Tobirama doesn’t like to show weakness,” Mito points out softly. “Even if he were having problems, he would keep them from you to spare you pain. He loves you very much.”

“I wish he loved me a little less then, if his love means he keeps things like this from me,” Hashirama says. His tone is bleak, he knows. He can’t help it. “When Yoshiaki-san brings me the documents, will you look them over? You’ll know better what… what might be done.”

“If the seal is only meant to last ten years, it’s very possible it will break on its own,” Mito murmurs. “Such a thing… mm, it might hold on, if it’s held this long, but if Tobirama and Izuna-san meet with difficulties on their mission, the pressure of his chakra will likely be enough to destabilize it… ah, but lifespans are rarely so precise, except… hm…” She shakes her head before she trails off entirely into academic muttering, and says more clearly, “Only time will tell. Please ensure that Tobirama is brought to me directly when he returns from his mission, if I’m not there to see him return?”

“Of course.” Hashirama stoops again, this time to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, my love.”

“He’s my brother too,” Mito says. “You know I’ll do all I can to see to his continued health. But… there may be complications, I must warn you now. Sealing is a complex art at the best of times—which you know, you’ve heard Tobirama and I in discussion—and the soulmate bond is very difficult to interfere with under most circumstances. That his gift has remained sealed all this time is an abomination but also a feat of significant… ingenuity, let us say, criminal and horrifying as it is. I have no idea how it might have been done.”

“I understand.” Hashirama sighs. “I’m sure you can do it.”

“And I will.” Mito leans up to kiss his forehead in return, then climbs to her feet and offers him a hand up. She doesn’t go into the field any more, but she keeps up her physical conditioning and has no issues whatsoever in tugging him up to stand. “Go back to your work for now, Hashirama. We’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as we can.”

“Yes, okay.” He gives her one last hug, then goes to do as she’s said. A wise woman, his wife. A distraction is just what he needs, and the work of running a village can be an all-consuming distraction if he allows it to be. Normally he makes an effort to keep his head above the water and remember the other things that are important to him, but if he starts thinking about Tobirama again he’s going to end up weeping into housing regulation paperwork, which really will do nothing for his reputation. He’s the Hokage. He’s supposed to be… scary, or something.

The afternoon passes. He works, then works some more, and is finally pulled away from the work by the arrival of a runner. He has a sealed scroll from Yoshiaki, delivered with a bow, and Hashirama sets it down on his desk and stares at it for a long time. Eventually, he decides that he’s not going to get any more work done today, and it’s almost suppertime besides, so he can take the damn thing home and stare at it there instead.

Mito has already returned to their house when he arrives, thank the gods, and he’s able to shove it into her hands and go to sooth himself by making tea the long, ceremonial way, with much care and focus. It doesn’t really work, but at least the tea is good, and he brings Mito a cup when he’s finished.

By then, she’s already opened the scroll and has it spread across the dining room table, peering at the cramped writing that fills it. In the centre is a diagram of a seal, the black sigils spiralling around each other in the centre of the paper, and Hashirama fixes it with a glare.

“That’s it?” he asks, passing her her cup.

“Mm,” she says, and takes a sip of tea before he can warn her—it’s a little too hot, and she blinks at the scald. “Oh. Yes, sorry. This is it.”

“Anything you can see so far?”

“It’ll be a bastard to unravel if it doesn’t come apart on its own,” she says. The harsh language is unlike her; it must be a real puzzle. “But it does seem to have the ability to set a timeframe after which it will unseal unless renewed. I wonder why Butsuma would bother?”

“Control,” Hashirama says, seating himself at her side. “Or… who knows, maybe it was the one tiny scrap of compassion in his body, planning to give Tobirama a real choice some time down the line. Or maybe he just assumed his soulmate would be dead for real by now.”

“Possibly.” Mito reaches over and touches the back of Hashirama’s hand briefly, then turns back to the scroll. “Sit, drink your tea. Maybe make some supper. I need to read this.”

“Of course.” Hashirama is by no means a gourmet chef, but he’s picked up a few things. He’ll make miso eggplant and some grilled fish, maybe, he thinks he saw a few fillets in the fridge. But first he’s under orders to drink his tea, so he does that, then rises and leaves Mito to it so that he can’t spend any more time staring at the copy of the seal that has prevented his brother from knowing his other half for almost half their lives. Gods, what if Tobirama’s soulmate  _ is _ dead? Hashirama can hardly think it.

Dinner takes a while, and by the time he returns to the dining room Mito has rolled up Yoshiaki’s scroll and pulled out a blank one to make her own notes, which she puts aside when he comes in balancing a collection of plates and dishes fairly precariously. With her help, he gets everything laid out on the table, then sits down with a sigh.

“This looks wonderful,” Mito says, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, husband.”

“Anything for you, my love.” Hashirama takes up his chopsticks, mutters an, “Itadakimasu,” and digs in.

There’s silence for a few minutes as they begin to eat, until finally Mito says, “You must be dying to ask.”

“I really am,” Hashirama bursts out. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude. We  _ can _ finish eating first.”

“It’s alright. He’s your  _ brother _ , Hashirama.” She chews another bite of eggplant, then says, “I can’t be entirely sure, but… it’s not good.”

“Ah.” Hashirama puts down his chopsticks. His dinner is half-eaten, but his appetite, what little he had to begin with, has fled. “Please, Mito. Don’t sugarcoat.”

“I cannot know for sure what the nature of the damage is because I don’t know the nature of his gift—the symptoms of the suppression would be related. However, I can say that the seal master did warn Butsuma clearly that the seal would cause progressively more damage the longer that it was left, and that after about a ten-year period the symptoms would begin trending toward fatality, likely twelve to fifteen years after the sealing depending on the specific symptoms, what treatment Tobirama received, and his innate vitality.” Mito pauses and takes a sip of her tea, which has surely gone cold by now. She must have forgotten about it while reading. “Whether they told Tobirama all of that, I don’t know. He’s a seal master as well, and likely would have been able to guess as much if he looked into it in the years since.”

“So my brother will die if we don’t get this seal off of him,” Hashirama says. He feels… absent from his body. “And it has been causing him increasing harm of some unknown kind this whole ten years.”

“Yes.” Mito touches his hand again. “I’m sorry, Hashirama.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Hashirama whispers. “ _ Why? _ We could have  _ helped _ .”

“Possibly he didn’t know if it could be removed. Or… whatever gift he has  _ is _ truly dangerous and he decided it was worth it.” But even Mito doesn’t sound like she believes those things. She knows as well as Hashirama why Tobirama kept this secret: because he can’t bear to show a weakness, even to his own brother. He can’t bear to have anyone know that he’s capable of being hurt, that he has a vulnerability. He cannot ever  _ stand _ to ask for help, even when he desperately fucking needs it.

Hashirama can’t let himself be angry about this right now. He’ll get angry when Tobirama is home, and safe. When this seal is off his body, and they can begin the search for his soulmate. Hopefully they can begin the search for his soulmate, if they’re even still alive. “Would he have known if his soulmate died? If the seal suppresses the gift?”

“I don’t know,” Mito says, sounding regretful. “We can’t be sure until it’s off.”

“Right.” So that’s a problem for when Tobirama is home too. If they are dead… well, he seems never to have expected to meet them, at least. “And… is the damage done to him permanent?”

“Likely,” Mito says bluntly. “Depending on what it is, healing jutsu might help, but it’s more likely that his chakra pathways have been distorted in such a way that it would be difficult to correct any physiological symptoms in a lasting manner. The physical damage would only return over time, because the chakra damage would be difficult if not impossible to heal, and it’s the chakra damage that would be harming his body.”

“Which would probably only mean he suffered more as he went through cycles of being healed and then becoming sicker again, and possibly more painfully than the first time since it might happen more quickly,” Hashirama says, nodding. He’s seen some similar cases while studying healing; some people’s chakra pathways are naturally distorted, or become so, and it can cause all  _ sorts _ of issues depending on which pathways and how they’re twisted. Again: he’ll need to examine Tobirama  _ properly _ in order to know more. Damn it. His brother  _ hates _ going to the hospital. He avoids the place like the plague.

Which, of course he does: if the medic-nin had ever gotten a proper look at him they’d have figured out something was going on. 

“Damn it,” Hashirama mutters. “This is the worst.”

“I know, dear.” Mito squeezes his hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, I swear. When is Tobirama due to return?”

“A few more days, so long as nothing goes wrong.” He can’t even think about the regular hazards of shinobi life right now. But Tobirama is Tobirama, and he has Izuna with him; there’s very little the two of them together couldn’t theoretically handle, except for a ninja of Hashirama’s own caliber, really. And the odds of that are vanishingly small, so they’ll be fine. They will be  _ fine. _

Frustrated, Hashirama rubs a hand over his face and then stares down into his dinner, which he really has no desire to finish it. He can put it in the fridge and eat it when he’s inevitably hungry at midnight, maybe?

“Hashirama.” Mito’s face is calm when he looks up to meet her dark, steady eyes. “They will be fine.”

The echo of his own thoughts is oddly calming, and he lets out a breath.

“Eat dinner with me, and then we’ll go to bed. This all must wait until Tobirama is home, and we have a village to run in the mean time. You know your priorities,” she says.

Hashirama wants to yell,  _ My priority is my baby brother! _ and run out into the woods due south until he finds Tobirama and can hold him safe. But that would be foolish, and very rude to his wife beside, so instead he just sighs again and picks up his chopsticks. She’s probably right, he’ll feel better with some food in his stomach, and… and. And all the rest can,  _ must _ , wait.

He hates waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout first and foremost to all the people who commented!! And a second shoutout to everyone who guessed the twist in the comments. Y'all are SHARP.
> 
> Next chapter might take sliiiiightly longer because it's shorter but hasn't been edited yet. And then the last chapter needs a pretty significant go-over. That said, the whole thing should be up by the end of the week!

With a satisfied sigh, Izuna finishes wiping the blood from the blade of his katana and sheathes it. He’ll need to oil the metal properly later, but for now that’s good enough. They should get moving, get Kiyomi-chan and Mitsuo-kun to the capital—it’s only just pre-dawn now, and they’ve got about a half-day’s travel ahead of them, but waiting around is just asking for reinforcements to show up, not that the seven mid-level ninja from… what, Wind Country maybe? Not that they weren’t enough.

There’s a rustle, and Tobirama emerges from the trees with Kiyomi-chan on his back. Mitsuo-kun has been somewhat awkwardly shoved into the front of her kimono and is squalling and squirming where he’s pressed between his mother’s body and Tobirama’s armour. Tobirama looks a bit banged up—there must have been more of the enemy hiding in the wood where they’d gone off to while Izuna dealt with the group here.

“You okay?” Izuna asks. His Sharingan is still active, just in case, and he can see the flickering haze of a genjustu laid over Tobirama’s face—maybe he’s bloodied or has a black eye or something, and doesn’t want to scare the kid?

“I am well,” Tobirama says, setting Kiyomi-chan down onto her shaky legs. 

Izuna deactivates his Sharingan and steps over to her side to take Mitsuo-kun so that she can right her clothing and wrap herself in the sling, averting his eyes politely when removing the baby from her kimono causes it to gape open for a moment. When she’s ready, he hands Mitsuo back, and she tucks him close again and begins the process of soothing his cries.

“We should be moving on,” Tobirama says in an undertone, sidling up to Izuna. “At a faster pace than the past day and a half.”

“Yes, I agree.” Izuna nods toward Kiyomi-chan. “Do you want me to take her?”

“... I took a moderate injury but should be fine to take the first shift carrying her,” Tobirama says. “However, I am unsure if it will cause problems as the day draws on.”

Izuna frowns, looking the Senju over. He has no visible wounds other than a few scrapes on one of his knuckles—must have punched someone—but that genjutsu around his head… maybe he took a hard knock? Still, they can’t delay in completing the mission, and if Tobirama  _ is _ bleeding internally or something else horrible like that better that he collapse in town than out here in the middle of Fuck-Nowhere Forest Land. Plus, Izuna doesn’t want to have to carry him too.

“Sure, fine,” he says. He raises his voice slightly then and calls, “Kiyomi-chan, stay here with Tobirama-san. I’m going to go pack our supplies very quickly—” they’d had to abandon the camp when the ambush came, but it should all still be there, “—and then we can be moving on.”

“Yes, okay,” she says. Her voice is trembling a little bit, and so is the hand she has resting on the back of Mitsuo-kun’s head. The baby is still crying. Kiyomi-chan sort of looks like she wants to cry too. “I’ll… just wait here, yes.”

“I will keep you safe, I promise,” Tobirama says in a low voice, and she shoots him a look, like… she’s frightened. Fuck, of course—she probably just saw him kill who knows how many people, and knowing Tobirama he said precisely nothing to make her feel better about it. 

Izuna lets out an exasperated sigh through his nose, and at Tobirama’s glance signs,  _ Civilian-calm _ . The latter is Uchiha clan sign rather than one from the common sign language the village has been developing, but he’s sure Senju intelligence has managed to gather most of their sign over the years. And they use this one a  _ lot _ , because they’re all hotheaded jerks—listen, Izuna can admit his and his clan’s flaws.

Tobirama just raises an eyebrow, then signs back,  _? _

“Ugh,” Izuna says, gives the emotionless bastard up for a lost cause, and darts back into the forest. They’re only a minute from the camp, just far enough that Izuna could avoid setting the tent on fire with his jutsu, and it’s the work of only a few more to gather everything together and seal it neatly away. Fortunately, Tobirama’s sealing scrolls—beautifully made things, and Izuna can admire the man’s talent even if he seems to have traded any and all social graces for it—are still there and easy to use. Then it’s back to the little clearing where he left Tobirama and Kiyomi-chan, who’re still in the same awkward, nervous standoff that he’d left them in. 

“Got everything,” he says, patting the scrolls now tied to his belt. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Tobirama kneels to offer Kiyomi-chan his back, and she clambers on without showing  _ too _ much hesitation, Mitsuo-kun once again pressed between the two of them. 

Then they’re off, running east at something like twice the pace they’d been setting the past few days. With only a little distance left to cover, this is now a sprint and not a marathon; there’s no need to conserve strength for an anticipated attack any more. Izuna smiles to himself as they run. They’ll be home soon, in just a few more days, and he can stop spending time with the bastard Senju.

Not that Tobirama’s made himself totally offensive during the mission, or anything. Turns out a lot of the prickliness that usually pisses Izuna off so much is just… awkwardness, revealed as such by Izuna being forced to give him the benefit of the doubt. He still doesn’t  _ like _ the other man, and probably never will: Senju Tobirama is still defensive and abrupt and emotionless, as cold and hard in his manner as a stone statue and about as welcoming of conversation. Still, though, Izuna could see him making an effort to be… a little less rigid, or something, over the past few days. And fuck if the guy isn’t competent, which Izuna can respect.

Ultimately, that’s what it comes down to. It’s about what he can respect, and as it happens, Tobirama is respectable. They’ll never be best friends, nearly brothers in the way Madara and Hashirama are, but some peace will be enough to make the Hokage calm down and that’s good enough. Enough to keep the greater peace, anyway, which is what’s important.

They run for two hours, and then pause to switch off. Mitsuo-kun has fallen asleep, so Izuna is spared the crying in his ear that Tobirama was treated to for the first forty-five minutes. Interestingly, Izuna does find himself having to slow his pace just slightly, because Tobirama does seem to be flagging; Izuna’s no sensor, not like Madara, but he’s got just enough of the sense to know that the other man’s usually blazing signature seems… diminished. Maybe he’s burning chakra trying to heal himself as they run? But his control is usually—ugh, it doesn’t matter. Izuna puts the thought out of his mind. They’ll be in the capital in another two hours or so, and then he can pester the Senju into telling him what the hell’s going on.

Just before they reach the edge of the city, Kiyomi-chan’s weight shifts on his back, and Tobirama draws level to sign,  _ Civilian-unconscious; unharmed _ . 

_ Acknowledged _ , Izuna signs back, careful not to dislodge her. Adrenaline crash combined with the early morning, Izuna figures. She’ll be fine.

And then they come out of the treeline above a farm, and start making their way across the fields. The sprawl of the capital city is visible ahead of them, and beyond that the walled district in which the nobles have their houses and the daimyo keeps his court. Less than half an hour, and Kiyomi-chan will be back with her husband.

They don’t bother to stop at the wall of the district, leaping up and over it, but they do pause so that Izuna can call down off a rooftop to a startled servant passing below them for directions to Asakura-dono’s manor, Kiyomi-chan’s husband. The servant stammers out the manor’s location, and then they’re gone again in a blink, flitting across roof tiles with only the very faintest taps of their sandals. 

Finally, they come to the house, and together they drop down into the street to announce themselves. The front door is guarded by two samurai, who both look extremely surprised to see them and only relax when they sees Kiyomi-chan’s face.

“Ah, ninja-san,” one of them, an older man, says. “You’re early.”

“We met with some trouble,” Izuna says cheerfully. “But we dealt with it. Still, we decided we had best shake a leg, hm?”

“... Yes, I suppose,” says the samurai, taken aback. Izuna just grins at him, and he turns to open the door for them. “The lord should be in his office. I will escort you.”

“Sure, sure.” Gently, Izuna nudges Kiyomi-chan. 

She makes a soft sound, then a louder, “Ah!” as she recognizes their surroundings.

“You’re home!” Izuna tells her, and lets her slide down off his back. 

“Thank you very much, Izuna-san,” she says. She’s still a bit dazed from waking, and smiles at him, touching Mitsuo-kun’s head as he’s seen her do many times these past few days. “For both of us.”

“You’re very welcome. Now come, let’s get you to your husband.”

The samurai guides them inside and down a hall to an ajar sliding door, which he opens and bows them in. Tobirama steps in first, then clears the way for Kiyomi-chan, who cries out and throws herself forward as soon as she’s through the door. Izuna is a second behind, and comes in in time to see a man in plain but high-quality clothes with tidy facial hair and a heartbreakingly relieved expression on his face catch his wife and son in his arms.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” he says, kisses her twice, and then clutches her close as he looks over her head at Izuna and Tobirama. “Thank you so much, ninja-san. I’m very grateful that you were able to return my son and my soulmate unharmed.”

“It was our duty,” Tobirama demures.

Izuna rolls his eyes. “What my comrade means is that it was our  _ pleasure _ . Your wife is a kind woman, and very tolerant of shinobi quirks.”

“That surprises me not at all,” the lord says, releasing Kiyomi-chan so that both of them can bow to Izuna and Tobirama. “I hope you will not think me rude if I say that I’m sure you both would like to get to your own homecomings soon.”

“Not at all,” Izuna says, bowing in return; in his peripheral vision, he can see Tobirama doing the same. “The village has received pay from your household already, so we’ll be on our way. Have a good afternoon, Asakura-dono.”

“And you, ninja-san.” The lord is already turning his attention back to his wife, and Izuna is very happy to leave them to their reunion. In another minute, he and Tobirama are back outside the house and on their way back across the rooftops, and all that’s ahead of them is the road back home.

Well, and Izuna’s increasingly pressing need to force Tobirama to tell him what’s wrong, he thinks, seeing Tobirama stumble—just the slightest, almost imperceptible bit—on one of his landings. At this rate the idiot isn’t going to  _ make _ it back to Konoha, and then Izuna’s going to get blamed for him dropping dead or whatever, and it’s all going to be a huge mess.

Better not to say anything inside the city though, so Izuna waits until they hit the edge of the forest to stop dead and says, “Hey, Senju.”

“Yes, Izuna-san?” Tobirama says, stopping as well.

“Are you… okay? You seem to be running low on chakra. Did you get hurt?”

Tobirama purses his lips very slightly. “Not badly. I would prefer to return to Konoha as quickly as possible. I will be fine.”

“... Okay, well, I can tell that you’re full of shit, so just tell me in advance if you’re going to pass out,” Izuna says. 

Tobirama opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it, nods, and leaps for the next tree.

They make it another hour, which is more than Izuna actually expected. By then, he’s beginning to wonder if maybe Tobirama  _ was _ right, and will be okay until they get back—it’s only another day and a bit, they’re not setting a particularly punishing pace, and they  _ will _ stop and sleep in the middle, which should help with whatever’s wrong.

Then, just ahead of Izuna, Tobirama stops and leaps down to the ground. Izuna raises an eyebrow, but he follows and starts to say, “What’s—”

“I am about to fall unconscious,” Tobirama says bluntly, and then he turns and he looks at Izuna, and the genjutsu over his face falls away, revealing his eyes, which are—holy  _ shit _ . “My chakra is exhausted. You will have to c… to carry me… Ah. I apologize.” These last words are very faint, and then those  _ fucking eyes _ fall shut, and sure enough, Tobirama collapses like a paper lantern with no ribbing holding it up, folding in on himself into an ungraceful heap on the forest floor.

Izuna just… stares. He can’t even move to catch the poor bastard, because Tobirama’s eyes had been red—not just red, not his usual red, but  _ Sharingan _ red, and marked with three black tomoe chasing each other around in his irises, and  _ holy fuck, Senju Tobirama has the Sharingan. _ How is that even possible! He’s definitely not an Uchiha, and the only non-Uchiha who have the Sharingan are—are Uchiha soulmates.

“Oh, shit,” Izuna says out loud. Tobirama’s soulmate is a  _ fucking Uchiha _ . That’s why he’d dodged the question the other night. But… okay, wow, Izuna has a lot of questions for the bastard, but none of them are ones that can be answered by a person who’s very deeply unconscious due to chakra exhaustion, which in hindsight is definitely what happened. He must have… what, activated the Sharingan (for the first time?) in the fight this morning, and then not been able to deactivate it for some reason? Something wrong with his chakra, or some technique, or… maybe just too much trouble regulating his emotions to get the damn things to go away again. Izuna remembers his early training with his eyes; especially at the start, it took as much willpower to cut the flow of chakra to his eyes and banish the adjustments to his perception as it did to summon it, if not more. The body, the instincts, rebelled against it. And Tobirama must have been terrified.

“Okay, Izuna,” he says out loud to himself. “So, Senju Tobirama has the Sharingan, and you need to… get him back to the village. And Madara. Madara will know what to do.”

Yes, perfect. Madara will know exactly what to do. Izuna takes a deep breath, breathes out as much of the panic as he can, and steps forward to collect Tobirama’s limp body off the ground. The bastard didn’t smack his head on the way down, at least, so it’s easy enough for Izuna to swing him across his shoulders—heavy fucker, surprising for how lithe he is, but he  _ is _ wearing armour—and take off northward back to Konoha as fast as humanly possible. He really,  _ really _ needs to get back to Madara.

* * *

Despite what people believe, Madara is extremely good at minding his own damn business, which is what he's in the middle of doing when Izuna kicks open the door to his home office and shouts, "Aniki, the bastard has a fucking Sharingan!" This is a contextless statement for about two seconds, and then Madara recognizes the limp form slung across his brother’s back as Senju  _ fucking _ Tobirama, still in his armour and mission-dirty, and all of a sudden the frantic look on Izuna’s face makes a lot more sense.

Madara drops his teacup. Then he yelps as the hot liquid spills across his lap and jumps up from his seat at the desk. “What the  _ hell _ ?” he demands.

“I don’t know!” Izuna cries, halfway to whining. “Seriously, we were on the mission and then after a fight he turned up with a genjustu over his face and I didn’t question it because, y’know, better not to start any unnecessary arguments, but then he was stumbling and seemed sort of chakra exhausted, and then he looked at me and—!” He raises a hand and gestures at his own eyes.

“That’s not possible,” Madara says, stepping forward to take the Senju off Izuna’s back. “The only way he could have the Sharingan is if—”

“His soulmate is an Uchiha! I know! Strong, too, he had three tomoe. But how did we not know all this time?”

“Are you sure you weren’t mistaken?” Madara asks. He lays Tobirama out on the floor and extends his senses; Izuna was right about the chakra exhaustion, he can tell that much right away. Tobirama’s totally drained. No wonder he’s still unconscious; he’ll probably sleep for at least another 24 hours, with his reserves this low. 

“I am one hundred percent sure,” Izuna says. “Would I make something like this up?”

“You said he was using a genjutsu.” Madara doesn’t know any healing jutsu, that’s more Hashirama’s thing, but he has enough basic medical training to check Tobirama’s pulse and breathing. He’s not imminently about to die, looks like, so Madara sits back and looks up at his brother, who’s waving his hands around like a moron. 

“Yeah, but when it was up his face just looked normal. I mean, as much as the albino fucker  _ ever  _ looks normal, and oh god, if he’s an Uchiha soulmate does that mean I have to be  _ nice _ to him now?” Izuna says, looking horrified.

Madara gives him an unimpressed look. “Focus.”

“Okay, but really.” Izuna sobers a bit, meets Madara’s eyes over where Tobirama is laid out between them. “I’m sure. And that means… I don’t even know. What the hell does it mean, aniki?”

“Fuck if I know,” Madara huffs. “Did you expect me to have all the answers?”

“Uh, yeah, sort of,” Izuna says. 

That’s just like him, Madara thinks, and runs a hand over his face. He’s probably been bolting back to Konoha to deliver Tobirama’s body like a proud cat with a dead mouse for what, a day? A day and a half? And in that entire time he hadn’t thought of a single solution to the  _ clear problem _ of  _ Senju Tobirama _ having the Sharingan, and therefore being soulbound to some unknown person in their clan. It could literally be any adult shinobi around Tobirama’s own age who’s awakened their own Sharingan and hasn’t met their match, which rules out… well, a good number of people, but still leaves plenty, including  _ Madara himself _ , unlikely as that is. His match probably got, what, the flexibility of his chakra nature? His speed? Uchiha pretty much only use fire techniques even if they’re able to learn others, so hard to know if anyone has the former, and that latter would be lost to the background noise of their own training. Damn it. Madara’s going to need to check the clan register of soulmate gifts and bonds. 

For the sin of being born first, however, Madara is the clan head, and that means he  _ does _ need to make a decision here. On the upside, they  _ do _ have protocol for this situation. “Fetch a healer,” he tells his brother. “Someone discreet. I’ll bring him to my room for now, since we probably shouldn’t broadcast that he’s here until we know for sure what’s going on. Depending on the result of the medical scan, I’ll figure out what to tell Hashirama about this whole clusterfuck.”

Izuna lets out a relieved breath and nods, makes a brisk salute, and is out the door in a flash. He’ll probably bring Haruka, or maybe Takao—both of them are discreet. In the mean time, Madara regards Tobirama’s body with no small sense of the irony of this whole situation and then collects him up off the ground as carefully as he can. No point bruising him up any further, unless it turns out he’s playing some sort of particularly nasty trick on Izuna. In which case Madara’s going to kick his ass, and Hashirama won’t be able to stop him.

Madara’s bed is made, fortunately, and he lays Tobirama down on top of the covers and then sets about removing the man’s armour. He’s all limbs, lanky and lithe, and Madara can’t help but appreciate a little bit as he works. The bastard’s really quite tolerable when he’s unconscious and not able to say anything characteristically biting or otherwise be an asshole, and it’s not like Madara hasn’t always thought he was nice to look at. Still, it’s probably creepy to stare while the man’s unconscious, he decides, and once Tobirama’s armour is off he steps out of the room to wait for the arrival of one of their clan healers. Fortunately it’s only another minute, so he’s not forced to loiter awkwardly in the hall outside his own bedroom for very long.

Izuna has brought Haruka, as it happens, and the older woman—probably their aunt of some degree, but she’s part of a fairly distant branch family—briskly shoos Madara out of the way and steps into the room without bothering to greet him. Then she stops and turns to them, both standing in the doorway, and says, “Is this a joke?”

“Unfortunately not,” Madara sighs. “Izuna brought him back like this, and said he’d seen him with active Sharingan. We need you to confirm, and ensure that the chakra exhaustion is just that and that there’s no other damage.”

Haruka stares at him unblinking for another minute, then she points and says, “If that’s a clone under henge, I’m going to know immediately, and I promise you I will  _ not _ find it funny.” Then she turns and marches over to the bed, and raises hands glowing with green chakra to place on Tobirama’s forehead and chest.

There’s a beat, and then she says, “ _ What _ .”

Izuna and Madara share a look. Then Madara steps into the room first, Izuna at his back. “What is it?” he asks.

“Well, he has the pathways for the Sharingan, you were right. But… gods. His chakra system… something is very wrong. Go sit down, this is going to take me a while.”

There’s not much to be done but obey a healer when they get that sort of tone in their voice, Madara knows from experience. He ushers Izuna back out of the room and orders his brother to make tea while he sits down at the dining room table and tries to rub the oncoming tension headache out of his temples. He absolutely does not want to sit here and wait, he wants to go demand answers, but that’s just going to get him kicked out of his own damn house—he’s dealt with Haruka before—and he really can’t take that sort of embarrassment on top of the day he’s already having. Something is  _ wrong _ , she’d said. Something is wrong with Senju Tobirama, very possibly to do with his activation of the Sharingan, and gods above is that ever going to go  _ terribly _ for their clan when it inevitably gets out. Not least because Tobirama’s definitely going to hate them even more if the Sharingan has damaged him permanently in some way. What the hell.

“What do you think?” Izuna asks quietly, setting down a teapot and three cups. “Is it even  _ possible _ that this is the first time he’s activated it?”

Madara hadn’t even thought of that. “There’s no way. It would have activated automatically when the preliminary bond manifested for him if his soulmate already had theirs, and I can’t think of anyone around his age who hadn’t gotten their eyes by the time their bond-gift appeared.”

“So he’s just… hidden it all this time? Lied to us?”

“I can’t imagine why, but that must be the case.” There’s not really any other possibility, unless something  _ really _ weird is going on. Which is… infuriating. 

“Ugh, but that doesn’t make any sense,” Izuna says, and pours a cup of tea aggressively enough that little droplets splash everywhere, then takes an equally aggressive sip with a scowl on his face. “I’m pretty sure he drained his chakra because he couldn’t deactivate it while we were on our mission, and if he’s had the eyes for ten damn years or thereabouts then… I mean, he  _ must _ have learned some time.”

“Maybe he just… activated them the first time, and then never again?” Madara suggests, though that doesn’t make any sense either, really. Even with the Senju’s prejudices against the Uchiha, there’s no  _ way _ a man like Tobirama would forego an opportunity to use a tool as strong as the Sharingan. Especially for a man capable with all five chakra natures, who could therefore actually  _ use _ any jutsu he copied… gods, what a terrifying thought. Never mind, Madara is glad that Tobirama has never used the Sharingan, mystifying as it is.

“Ugh,” Izuna says again.

“I concur,” Madara sighs, then pours himself some tea and makes himself sip it slowly while they wait.

Haruka’s examination, or whatever it is she’s doing,  _ does _ take a while, so he understands why she’d sent them out. When she does emerge, some twenty minutes later, she looks drained, and accepts a cup of tea with alacrity, then slumps into a seat.

“Someone has done something very bad to that boy,” she says after a minute. Her voice is very quiet, and Madara feels a knot of dread take hold at the base of his throat. Abruptly he very much does not want to hear whatever she’s about to say.

“What do you mean?” Izuna asks.

“His chakra systems, particularly surrounding his eyes, have been… warped. I traced the interference as best I could, and there appears to be the remnant of a seal on him. Its exact purpose I cannot tell,” she says, waving a hand. “I’m no Uzumaki, and even if I was, it’s only half-there. It must have been broken or degraded somehow. It doesn’t matter. All I can tell is that whatever it was, it either prevented him from activating his Sharingan or caused him severe harm any time he did, and that the damage it caused to his chakra systems is permanent. And…” She hesitates then.

Madara swallows, reminds himself that this is his duty as clan head—to the man sleeping in their guest room now, too, because a confirmed and active Sharingan makes a person an Uchiha, no ifs, ands, or buts—and says, “Please continue, Haruka-sensei. It’s for the best that we know all of it.”

“The chakra damage has caused physical damage, too. To his eyes and to his brain,” she says, after another moment. Once it’s out, she looks very tired, much more her age than when she’d walked through their door, what, only a half-hour ago? And look how much the world has shifted in that time. “The exact effects I cannot tell, but they seem likely to be permanent unless the distortion of his chakra pathways can be healed, and to the best of my knowledge, that is beyond the capabilities of any medic-nin currently living.”

“Is he going to die?” Madara asks. If so, he needs to get Tobirama home,  _ now _ . For a multitude of reasons, the first being that it would kill Hashirama, Tobirama cannot die here. 

“No. Much of the damage is old. Some of it very old, and only gradually worsened over time, if I cared to make a guess.” Haruka takes a sip of tea, then clears her throat. “Whatever symptoms the damage does carry—memory issues, maybe, given the location and the ties to the Sharingan pathways; possibly vision problems too—he’s been living with it for some time, and will continue to do so.”

“... Right.” Better than the alternative, Madara supposes, but what the  _ hell _ . Senju Tobirama is one of the most formidable ninja he’s ever known and a genius in his own right, and he’s done all that with  _ brain damage _ ?

“What would you like me to do, Madara-sama?” Haruka asks. “I can attempt to heal some of the damage, though I suspect I will yield little result. Otherwise, as far as I could tell the only thing wrong with him is a standard case of chakra exhaustion, which he can just sleep off. If he’s out more than another day, he’ll need fluids, but otherwise…”

“Little to be done, yes. I understand.” Madara sighs and shoves a hand back through his hair.

There’s a long, heavy silence. Haruka is staring down into her tea, clearly deep in thought. Izuna is frowning. Madara is… troubled. Okay, so Madara is furious, in fact—Tobirama is an  _ Uchiha _ now, and for more than one reason that pisses him the hell off. The man is probably the leading cause of death for their clan’s warriors in the past ten or twelve years, and he’s  _ one of them _ now, inexorable. Sharingan, Uchiha. No question. And at the same time, someone decided that he was  _ not _ going to bear the gift of being soul-bound to their clan, that it would be hidden, and in such a way that it did permanent damage to the man’s brain and body. Someone decided that Senju Tobirama was not to have a Sharingan, that it would be sealed away, and he’s been suffering ever since. Madara is going to need some time to come to terms with that, he already knows; it’s only the shock that’s prevented him from going off to break Hashirama’s nose already—Hashirama, who is Senju clan head, who  _ must _ have known. Right?  _ Right _ ? And if he didn’t, what the  _ fuck _ —

Then Izuna says, abrupt and harsh, “Could he have done it to himself?”

Madara goes still, even as Haruka looks up sharply. “That’s quite an accusation,” she says.

“Well,  _ did _ he?” he asks, insists. “We all know that ice-cold bastard hates the Uchiha—or, I don’t know, I’ve always believed that. He avoids every damn member of this clan like we’re carriers of plague, he doesn’t assist with clan projects that intersect with village interests, since the initial treaty negotiations he’s been a massive prick to all of us. If he manifested the Sharingan, I wouldn’t put it past him  _ at all _ to decide he’d rather do without it, even if it meant consequences. Or maybe he just didn’t know, whatever, but the fact remains that he—”

“He couldn’t have done it,” Haruka interrupts sharply. “The seal remnants were on the back of his neck, and master-level work, which I doubt even Senju Tobirama was capable of at the age of, what, twelve? Thirteen? I’ve heard a lot about his skill, but some things do take time to learn. He could not have done this to himself, and no one sane  _ would _ have done it. To interfere with a soulmate gift in this way is  _ mad _ , Izuna-sama, and even you must admit that though the man in there is many things, cold and cruel among them, he is very sane.”

“Right.” Izuna still looks angry, but less pointedly so, and he sits back with a sigh. “So that leaves us with… what? The Senju did it to him? Some of the elders, or Butsuma?”

“His own father?” Haruka shakes her head. “I suppose it’s possible, but… I would hate to believe it.”

Madara rises suddenly enough that both Haruka and Izuna startle a little bit. “I’m going to talk to Hashirama,” he says. “I’ll be back. Don’t let him die while I’m gone.”

“... Ah, sure thing, aniki.” 

“Yes, Madara-sama,” Haruka says, and she and Izuna exchange a glance.

Madara just nods and stomps toward the door. He is going to walk to Hokage Tower, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to leap through the window and tear Hashirama’s stupid head off. As it is, he’s going to give his friend about five seconds to explain what the fuck the Senju clan was thinking, putting that sort of seal on someone’s soulmate gift. He’s… it’s… he just hopes Hashirama didn’t know, because if he knew, someone’s gonna die, and if Madara is being honest it might be him, if it should come to a fight. And it  _ will _ come to a fight, because absolutely nothing will stop him from trying to murder Hashirama over this, it’s just  _ one step too far _ .

However, he can’t murder the Hokage before he actually has cause, so he walks and he breathes and he tries to calm down. It’s difficult. He’s definitely been more angry than this in his life, but there’s this bitter, vicious undercurrent that’s got its claws in his gut and just  _ refuses _ to stop squeezing. He doesn’t really give a shit about Tobirama—the guy’s a prick and Madara barely knows him beyond that—but that he’s been hurt this badly just for the  _ crime _ of having a Sharingan? It’s personal.

By the time he reaches Hokage Tower, having stormed past and probably scared the shit out of any number of civilians and ninja just minding their own business in Konoha’s increasingly-crowded streets, he’s… well, he’s still angry. But it’s hardened into a blade in his heart, pointed outward. If he has to fling that blade it’ll probably tear right through him too, but  _ he’ll do it _ . Madara is the Uchiha clan head, and Tobirama is an Uchiha now, and he  _ will _ be protected, even from his own family, come hell or high water.

Madara doesn’t knock on the door of the Hokage’s office. He has the right to be here, he always has, and he has no compunctions about taking advantage. Hashirama is alone, fortunately, frowning down at a scroll on his desk. His brush, dipped before he needs it like he always does, has dripped a spot of ink onto the desk’s surface, which Hashirama is sure to put his elbow in at some point. If Madara doesn’t kill him first, of course.

Hashirama looks up when Madara comes in, the frown sliding away to a smile, a little smaller than usual. He looks tired, Madara thinks; there are shadows beneath his eyes that suggest a poor sleep. Something is wrong. 

“Madara,” Hashirama says, cheerful. It’s a bit put on today. “How nice to have a visit! How are—”

“Who put that fucking seal on your brother?” Madara interrupts, stalking across the room to lean over the desk and plant his hands on it. Open, unarmed for now. Control, he reminds himself. Calm. 

Hashirama blinks, and he says, “Uh. How did you even—did something happen? Is Izuna okay, did you hear from him?”

“Izuna is fine,” Madara bites out. “But your  _ brother _ is  _ not _ , because someone  _ sealed his soulmate gift _ .”

“I… yes, that’s true, I still don’t know how you know that. I’m dealing with it.” Hashirama’s expression shifts slightly as he speaks, hardens, and the bitter thing in Madara’s gut clenches even more tightly. “Why do you even care?”

“Suffice to say,” Madara says, his voice a growl, “I have a  _ vested interest _ .”

There’s a pause, and then Hashirama’s face goes completely bloodless beneath his tan. “Oh, no,” he whispers. “Oh, gods—it was the Sharingan, wasn’t it?”

Right. Well. Madara leans back and very, very calmly retrieves a kunai. “You get five seconds to convince me you had no part in sealing an Uchiha soulmate’s gift, whether you knew that was what it was or not,” he says. “Then I’m going to kill you, Hashirama. Just so you know.”

“I had no idea,” Hashirama blurts hurriedly. “I only found out a few days ago that the seal even exists, uh—one of our elders came to me to ask about  _ redoing it _ and I said no! Obviously!” The last few words come out even faster as Madara raises his kunai, and Hashirama jolts up out of his seat. “I was just as horrified as you are—he’s my  _ brother _ , Madara, this was going to  _ kill _ him eventually, if I’d had even the slightest hint I’d have had Mito undo it immediately, I swear, there’s really no need for any stabbing, it’s going to be okay, okay? As soon as he and Izuna get back to the village we’re going to fix it, and also, hey, how did  _ you _ know about this, I only  _ just _ found out and I didn’t even know what his gift was. What—”

“They’re already back,” Madara interrupts. “Izuna brought Tobirama back unconscious about an hour ago. He brought him straight to me, his clan head, which is standard procedure when one of our clansmen meets an active Sharingan in the field that isn’t attached to someone we’re related to by blood.”

“Oh, hell,” Hashirama says, and slumps back down into his seat. He covers his face with his hands. “Oh, no. Madara, I swear, I didn’t—”

“I believe you.” Hashirama is a ninja, but he can’t lie for shit. Not to Madara, anyway. Madara takes a slow, deep breath. “You should probably not tell me the name of that elder, because I  _ will _ kill him instead.”

“That would be fine,” Hashirama mutters into his hands, then drags them down and off his face. His apparent exhaustion is suddenly a lot more understandable, if he’s been dealing with the fact that his brother has had this damn seal on him for the past few days. For a moment, Madara wonders why the hell Hashirama hadn’t come to him about this when it first happened, and then he remembers that he still doesn’t actually  _ like _ Tobirama, he’s just obliged to look after him now the same as he would any other Uchiha clansman. And, fuck, that’s going to be a mess, isn’t it?

“What the fuck  _ is _ it?” Madara says, after a moment. “The seal, I mean.”

“I only know some,” Hashirama says. “I mean, Mito would be able to explain better, and she wanted to examine it personally… it’s broken, then? You said he activated the Sharingan, from what she told me, he wouldn’t be able to do that if it was still in place.”

“Yes, it’s broken,” Madara confirms. “Our medic looked him over to verify the Sharingan, because I thought Izuna was trying to fuck with me. She said there were remnants of a seal on the back of his neck.”

“Right.” Hashirama sighs. “Well, that solves one problem at least. Mito said that if it’d stayed much longer, the damage could become fatal. But that won’t happen now!”

Madara frowns, thinking about what Haruka had said. “The damage it’s done is still quite bad. I’ll… let you speak to our medic, and you should look him over yourself, but she said there was some brain damage.”

“ _ Brain damage _ ?” Hashirama leans forward, horror washing over his face. “Is he—wait, you said he was unconscious, is he okay? Is he  _ dying _ ?”

“No, nothing like that,” Madara corrects hurriedly, holding up his hands. “He’s chakra exhausted. The Sharingan is… it takes a toll to activate it the first time, especially if it comes online at a higher manifestation than the baseline. Plus, if you don’t have someone to help, it’s very possible to struggle with deactivating it again. He burned himself out.”

“... Right, okay. Well, that’s still not  _ good _ , but at least he’s okay.” Hashirama sounds like he’s reassuring himself. “Anyway. Mito told me the damage would be related to his gift, so I guess… brain damage would make sense. I wonder if—never mind. She also said it would get worse over time. And that… she wasn’t sure if he knew what his gift was before the seal was applied, or even if he knew all of what the seal would do to him when they put it on…”

“ _ They _ ,” Madara says. “They who?”

Hashirama’s mouth twists, uncharacteristic bitterness transforming him for a brief moment into someone that Madara has met only very few times in the course of their friendship. Hashirama is cheerful, bright, a little idiotic… but sometimes he gets a glimpse of this other man, the clan head and warrior who bears the weight of a legacy and a war that he didn’t choose, and who resents it. Hashirama doesn’t talk about it, but Madara understands the feeling, and he knows even before Hashirama speaks what the answer to his question is going to be, the same as it always is when Hashirama gets this expression.

Hashirama says, “My father. Of course.”

“Right.” Madara lets out a breath and finally puts away his kunai. “Senju Butsuma, causing problems even after he’s been dead for years. Sounds just like him.”

“If he weren’t already dead, I’d consider killing him again myself for doing this to my brother,” Hashirama says, and the darkness in his voice, still present in his face, is enough that Madara believes it. Then the shadows disappear, banished back into the past from whence they came, and Hashirama straightens up. “Well. I… what do we do now?”

Madara tilts his head. “Well, like I said, our usual procedure for finding a clan soulmate with an active Sharingan is to bring them back and integrate them as soon as possible—not just to help them find their match, but… anyone with a Sharingan  _ is _ an Uchiha. But somehow I get the feeling your brother isn’t going to go along with that.”

“No, probably not,” Hashirama sighs. “He’s still prickly about your clan. I don’t really know why, but… well. I can probably talk him down from whatever kind of panic he has when he wakes up.”

Madara snorts at the idea of  _ Senju Tobirama _ ever having any kind of panic in his life, but nods. “Do you want to come retrieve him then? He’ll be asleep another day, Haruka said, so there’s no  _ real _ rush. He’s not exactly imposing right now, he’s just lying there.”

“Mm, I’ll come this evening then,” Hashirama says. He doesn’t look especially happy about it. “I’d rather not go running across the village in the middle of the day, and then come back carrying Tobirama’s unconscious body out of the Uchiha compound. Still… please, Madara, sit with him? Make sure he’s going to be okay until I can be there?’

Madara wants to roll his eyes at Hashirama’s earnestness, but he can’t exactly judge—he’d be a thousand times worse if it were Izuna in this position, he knows. He knows for a  _ fact _ , actually; it wasn’t that long ago that Izuna was badly wounded in the final battle between their clans before the peace. By Tobirama, actually, and as much as Madara hates the guy’s guts he’s still grateful that the Senju pulled that final blow. And he  _ did _ pull it; Izuna admitted as much. He’d been defenceless, and yet Tobirama chose not to run him through.

“I will,” he says, finally, and Hashirama nods in reply with a look of relief and a hint of smug pleasure. What the hell  _ that’s _ about, Madara has no idea; he’s probably just pleased that he’s finally managed to extend his peace-making to his brother, who’s been one of the last bastions of real skepticism.

“Thank you,” Hashirama says. “I’ll come as soon as my work is done to examine him. Another few hours, maybe?”

“The work’s never  _ actually _ done, you know that,” Madara says, to which Hashirama just sighs. “But yes, fine. I’ll keep an eye on him until then. And… perhaps when you come, we can discuss how we’ll go forward. I won’t force Tobirama to integrate into the Uchiha—can’t, probably—but he’ll be welcome among us and it would be nice if you could somehow convince him to make an effort.”

“He’s not  _ that _ bad,” Hashirama says apologetically. “He’s just cautious, Madara. He doesn’t trust easily—he’s been hurt badly by that in the past. More than even I knew, I guess.”

“I suppose.” It’s not that Madara doesn’t understand a reluctance to trust. He doesn’t trust Tobirama very well either, for the same reasons. But at least he doesn’t trust Tobirama because of what Tobirama, as an individual, has done to his clan; Tobirama hates them as a group for apparently no reason at all. “I’d better get back then, if you want me to babysit. But don’t dawdle, alright?”

“Of course,” Hashirama says. “I want to see him as soon as possible.”

“Just a few hours,” Madara says, and does his best to project reassurance and calm. It  _ will _ be okay now. They need to talk to the asshole currently unconscious in his bed, of course, but the seal is broken, everyone involved knows more or less what’s going on, and even if Tobirama decides to be stubborn and continue to keep secrets, they should be able to pin him down. By which Madara means that he’s not letting Tobirama out of his grasp until he gets to the bottom of all of this, and also shakes him until all of his prejudice falls out, hopefully.

He bids goodbye to Hashirama then, who returns it with more genuine cheer than his greeting had held, and leaps out the window to take the rooftops back to the Uchiha district. He’ll need to fill Izuna in on what he’s learned, and then he can keep an eye on Tobirama as promised until Hashirama arrives to take his recalcitrant brother in hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the problem with being very smart and therefore often right about things is that it becomes very easy to convince yourself that you are right about something even when you Really Are Not
> 
> (tobirama is a very unreliable narrator and in terms of angst potential we do love that for him)

Tobirama wakes up in an unfamiliar location, registers that, and then registers that his entire body hurts. The pain is familiar: chakra exhaustion. Every part of him feels heavy and weak, and even turning his head slightly to take in the darkened room he’s lying in causes a flare of burning pain to slide down his neck; he’ll need to be careful. There is nothing in the room he recognizes at first, and in the darkness, without chakra to augment his congenitally poor night vision and with only very little ability to move around, he can’t investigate easily. He takes a slow, deep breath, mimicking continued sleep in case he is being observed, and then stretches his chakra sense. That burns too,  _ badly _ , but he needs to—ah.

He’s back in Konoha. The pain blunts his concentration enough that he can’t be  _ entirely _ sure, but he thinks he might be in the Uchiha district. The chakra signatures around him are all the warm fire-natured flares typical of their clan, one in particular blazing high nearby.  _ Madara _ . And Izuna, not much further off. And in the distance, yes, Hashirama is in the village, not so far away now. Tobirama sighs silently and lets his senses relax, fading back into the buzz of awareness that he can never entirely shut off, but that does not provide him more input—or require more effort—than he can currently process.

Why is he in the Uchiha district and not in the hospital? Has something happened? Did Izuna bring him here? He closes his eyes again and focuses past the pain, settling into a breathing exercise he uses for working through migraines, and applies logic. They’d been on a mission. Kiyomi-san and her baby. The forest. Second watch—ah. They’d been attacked. The fight had gone swiftly for the most part; Tobirama had been forced to grab Kiyomi-san and flee some distance from the camp, splitting the enemy group between himself and Izuna. He hadn’t been overwhelmed by any means, but with a target to protect… his chakra had flared out of his control, uncharacteristic. He remembers the burning in his eyes, and then the sudden clarity of his vision in the dark, the way the ninja around him had seemed to slow.

It’s been ten years since Butsuma had ordered him to kneel in the middle of a sealing circle and Uzumaki Kenzou—an exile, Tobirama now knows, though at thirteen he’d had no idea—had sealed away his newly-manifested Sharingan. He’d not protested at the time, would not have even if he had known the consequences of the seal. Chichiue had ordered, and Tobirama had obeyed. That was how it had always gone.

In hindsight, he wishes that he’d had a little bit more spine, for many reasons. Still, he thinks he’s been living with the consequences well enough for all of these years, and now… now that time is over. Madara is in the other room, and will surely notice soon that Tobirama is awake. He has until then to decide how to handle this situation. As it stands, he has two options: to stay here and wait, or to attempt to flee and buy even just a little bit more time. In the long run, Tobirama knows that one way or another, he will not, cannot, escape. The Uchiha are likely to be furious; that Izuna didn’t kill him on the spot… well, that was never truly likely, not with the political climate being what it is, but Tobirama is far from surprised that the Uchiha brought him here rather than to the hospital, or even back to Hashirama.

Tobirama has never been one to lay down and die. He no longer believes, as his father tried to convince him, that the Uchiha indiscriminately murder soulmates of their clan born to enemy clans who manifest their doujutsu, and he is certain that they could not get away with executing him now. However, there are other factors to be considered, and he needs time to consider them.

He assesses his own chakra carefully, still breathing slow and steady. Low, very low. Dangerously low; he’s likely been unconscious for several days. But he has enough. Carefully, he gathers the scraps of his energy, mindful not to pull on the sparks that keep his heart beating and his brain functioning, and then stretches across the relatively short distance from here to the Hiraishin marker in his own bedroom and  _ pulls _ .

A flash, a twist, and Tobirama has just enough time to register that he’s arrived successfully before he topples over onto his own bed—Mochi yowls—and falls unconscious once more.

Tobirama wakes again, this time in his own bedroom. He still hurts. Worse, maybe, from lying in an awkward position. His mind feels blurred. However, while he is inside his own wards no one can get in, and so he will need to get himself up to hydrate. No one is coming to help him.

It takes some amount of willpower, and possibly another short period of unconsciousness, but finally Tobirama manages to drag himself up off his bed and into the kitchen, where he stoops awkwardly to drink directly from the tap. He’s not confident he has the strength to reach up into a cupboard for a cup. It doesn’t matter. Thirst abated, he fetches a container of cold rice from his fridge and eats it with his fingers, uncaring of his dignity when Mochi is the only one watching—Mochi who needs to be fed, as it happens. By the looks of it, Sarutobi-san has been by at least once, but the feeder is running low again. Gingerly, he moves to top it up, and then retreats to his bedroom to finally strip out of his mission-dirty clothing—the Uchiha must have his armour—and fall back onto his bed. He can’t bathe right now, but if he sleeps for a few more hours, he will be recovered enough at least to function.

Before allowing himself to fall unconscious again, he stretches his senses once more, ignoring the hurt, to make sure all is still well. Most of the village is quiet, chakra signatures still—it is fairly late now, that makes sense—and… Uchiha Madara is perched on Tobirama’s roof.

Tobirama sighs, exhausted. “You can wait,” he mutters, then curls into himself and falls back asleep.

Tobirama wakes for the third time feeling significantly restored. Still terrible, of course; chakra exhaustion cannot be fixed in a half-day of rest, even following at least a full day of unconsciousness. If his control was less refined, he would likely have remained more or less in a coma for another 12 to 24 hours. Fortunately, his control is  _ extremely _ refined.

Unfortunately, this means that he has to deal all the sooner with the fact that Uchiha Madara is still on his roof, and from the feel of his chakra when Tobirama extends his senses, extremely agitated. The man must be furious. Well, it was his own choice to spend the night on Tobirama’s roof instead of in his own bed, and Tobirama had nothing to do with that.

However, he will still need to let him in eventually. Tobirama sits up, slow and careful still in deference to his sore limbs and the lingering burning sensation that comes of drastically overextending his chakra, and arranges himself into a kneeling position on the bed. About two seconds later, as he’d expected, Mochi bolts into the room and leaps onto his lap, a warm, purring blanket of long white fur across his thighs. He smiles, laces his fingers into her fur, and closes his eyes to think.

Madara is enraged, of course, not only because of Tobirama keeping him waiting, but because he has—with or without his own will—stolen their clan gift. Yes, his soulmate is an Uchiha. He supposes he might even be able to find them now. But that is less important than the fact that there is very little chance the Uchiha will tolerate a Sharingan escaping their control. He has never heard of a Sharingan on the battlefield that didn’t belong to an Uchiha born to their clan, which means that they either kill their non-clan-born soulmates (as Butsuma had believed; unlikely), keep them locked away very carefully (plausible but also unlikely; news of  _ one _ of them surely would have gotten out eventually, especially since the founding of the village), or the clan removes their eyes when they find them, possibly then transplanting in new eyes. The last is what Tobirama imagines is the most likely, and would certainly make sense. That way, they could maintain control over their doujutsu and still keep their soulmates close, but not in such a way as to risk discovery or provoke rebellion in certain individuals.

Tobirama will not consent to being held back from the battlefield, and he will not consent to being executed. That leaves the removal of his eyes. If he protests that as well, he knows Hashirama would back him, but… it could cause issues. The Uchiha would certainly be unhappy, and with the Senju at Tobirama’s back, it could end the peace entirely. Tobirama will not risk that. This village, he’d never imagined that it was truly possible, but now that it exists he will sacrifice whatever he needs in order to keep it safe. He will do anything he can to create a peace between the clans that will prevent there ever being another child such as himself. He’d spent his entire youth knowing every time that he stepped onto the battlefield against the Uchiha that that day might have been the one on which his own soulmate fell beneath his blade, and he had steeled himself against such a possibility, but that made it no easier. Especially since, thanks to his prosopagnosia, he would never have been able to remember even so much as what they looked like. And thanks to the seal, he might never even have known.

These are thoughts he’s pushed away again and again over the years. The seal is broken now, though, and he can allow himself to… regret. Being prepared to die for the sake of the peace was not the same as being happy about it. 

Just as being prepared to lose his eyes for the sake of the peace is not the same as being happy about it. But  _ happiness _ is not what will decide the future of his brother’s dream, or at least not Tobirama’s happiness, and so he will do what he must. The only question now is whether to admit in advance that he is well aware that this will blind him, or if he will allow Madara to assume until it’s over that there is a chance that Tobirama’s vision might be restored via a transplant. He has studied his own eyes and brain carefully, monitoring the damage caused by the seal, and knows that because of his warped chakra pathways his body is very likely to reject a transplant. Probably best not to let them attempt it, he decides, and opens his eyes again with a sigh.

Tobirama looks down at Mochi, a cloud of white laid across his lap, and strokes her. He’ll miss her sweet face, he decides, though at least he won’t have to suffer remembering all the things he’ll never see again. He doesn’t remember things he sees at all now, and only remembers Hashirama’s face, Touka’s, and his father’s because he saw them before his memory began to degrade. Even then, he remembers his brother as he was; his adult face, older every year, is new each time he sees it. A mixed blessing and curse.

Up on the roof, at the edge of Tobirama’s relaxed sensory range, Madara is growing more agitated. He must be able to tell Tobirama is awake. Fine. No sense in delaying any longer.

He gets dressed, then goes to the front door and taps the seal matrix, applying the smallest possible amount of chakra; even that hurts like pressing on a cracked rib, but not so badly that Tobirama cannot ignore it. A moment later, Madara is down off the roof and standing in front of the door, which Tobirama opens to permit him entry.

Madara is glaring at him already when the door slides open, though the expression fades slightly when he catches sight of Tobirama’s face. “You look like a corpse, Senju,” he blurts.

Tobirama sighs. “My chakra is very low, Uchiha-san,” he says, and steps back. “Please come in. I would prefer to sit.”

“... Right.” Madara closes the door behind him, at least, and removes his sandals politely. 

Tobirama leads him through the entryway into the kitchen and dining area. There’s a table with two chairs there, though Hashirama is the only one who’s ever been here, and even then only briefly, and not since before Tobirama got Mochi. Mochi, who is sitting in the middle of the table regarding them like a queen, of course, which makes Tobirama roll his eyes fondly and shoo her off, then takes a seat.

Behind him, Madara makes a startled noise as Mochi runs past his legs and out of the room, but comes in nonetheless and takes a seat at the table. He seems… disarmed, and says, “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Tobirama looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “I have mentioned her.”

“... I thought that was bullshit to get out of a meeting.”

“It  _ was _ to get out of a meeting,” Tobirama admits. “But Mochi is real.”

“ _ Mochi _ —okay, this doesn’t matter. Senju, we need to talk.”

Tobirama nods. He folds his hands on the table in front of them and looks down at his laced finger for a minute. Madara seems to be hesitating too, so finally he says, “I understand that—”

At the same time, Madara starts, “Look, I get that this—”

Both of them break off. Then Madara says, “Go ahead.”

“Ah.” Tobirama looks up and meets Madara’s eyes. It might be first time he’s ever done so, he realizes; he meets Izuna’s eyes with alacrity these days, but he rarely speaks with Madara and moreover he  _ is _ a clan head, and Tobirama owes him at least some degree of deference. “In that case. Uchiha-sama, I am not familiar with the specifics of your customs, but I understand that per the needs of your clan, I will need to give up the Sharingan now that it is active. The hospital will be well-equipped to perform the surgery, and I admit that having it done there with at least one unaffiliated media would be my preference to only one of your clan medics, if such a request is not offensive. And… I would ask for the opportunity to visit with my brother prior to the procedure and… to see his face again one more time before…” Tobirama pauses, swallows, and then shrugs. “After that, we can arrange a time as soon as possible.”

Madara looks… stunned? Surprised, certainly, his face blank and his eyes wide. Perhaps he hadn’t expected Tobirama to consent? “What?” he says, after a minute.

Tobirama stops himself from asking ‘what’ in return, inane as that would be. He doesn’t want to have this conversation at all, and would prefer it be as short as possible. “I was unclear, I suppose. The chakra pathways around my eyes are damaged, and my body is likely to reject replacements, so after the Sharingan is removed I will be blind. I ask, then, that I be allowed to see Hashirama before the procedure. You have a brother as well, so I’m sure you can understand.”

“... I really don’t,” Madara says. He opens his mouth to continue, but Tobirama just… doesn’t want to hear it.  _ Can’t _ . He knows that Madara can be cruel, but hearing such a refusal,  _ now _ of all times, over what he’d thought would be such a reasonable request… he’d never be able to forgive that, and for the sake of the peace he cannot hold such anger in his heart.

“Fine,” Tobirama says, cutting the Uchiha off. “In that case, I must request you leave. I will go immediately to the hospital to make arrangements. You might wish to inform Hashirama yourself.”

Tobirama rises from the table, then, and waits. Madara takes a minute, still staring at him across the table, and then he finally seems to take the hint and gets up as well. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” Madara says, instead of  _ leaving _ .

“Do I?” Tobirama says. He knows his voice is too harsh, too cold. 

“Sit back down, Sen—Tobirama. Please.”

Tobirama purses his lips. He’s not in the habit of being ordered around in his own home, even politely, but he’s also rapidly approaching the threshold of  _ sit down before you fall down _ . He sits. 

Madara sits as well. “I know you don’t exactly think well of our clan,” he says, in a very low, controlled tone. “But we’re not actually monsters. We don’t blind our soulmates.”

“I did not assume so,” Tobirama says. “However, in my case it would be an unavoidable result. If this is a matter of concern over disabling me completely, you needn’t worry; in case you were not already aware, I am a chakra sensor of significant range and would be able to navigate, though of course I will be obliged to retire from more dangerous missions.”

Madara grits his teeth through the first half of Tobirama’s speech, and then, when he mentions his sensor abilities, he goes absolutely white. Perhaps he hadn’t known? Tobirama is genuinely surprised Hashirama has never mentioned it; they seem to talk openly about everything else.

“Tobirama,” Madara says slows, studying his face, and then he shakes his head. “I… this conversation isn’t over. Go talk to your brother.”

“... Oh.” So he hadn’t intended to refuse, earlier? Tobirama had misunderstood. He’s very tired. “Uchiha-sama—”

Madara just shakes his head, rises, and strides out of the room. A minute later, the door slides open, then clicks shut.

Tobirama remains sitting at the table, mystified. And then, slowly, very frustrated. The man hadn’t even the grace to speak in a straightforward manner about what would come next; he hadn’t denied the necessity of the surgery, nor apologized for the cost to Tobirama’s life and livelihood. He had ordered Tobirama around in his own home, and Sharingan or not, Tobirama is  _ not an Uchiha _ ; he is not beholden to Madara or bound to obey his orders in any way. He hadn’t even offered to arrange the surgery himself, perhaps because that would require admitting that he was, in some way, complicit in Tobirama’s ultimate fate.

He has to operate under the assumption that Madara has gone to fetch a medic. He doubts the Uchiha would delay; why else would they have brought him directly back to their compound, other than to perform the surgery as soon as Tobirama had recovered sufficiently from chakra exhaustion to remain stable under anaesthesia? Which means Tobirama likely has very little time to see Hashirama before he can’t any more. He can’t deny that he had hoped perhaps for an extra day. Alas. 

Tobirama is dressed, and with the addition of a kunai pouch and his faceguard is as ready as he will ever be—as ready as he needs to be in the village, anyway. The walk to Hokage Tower will take some time in his condition, so he will need to be moving, and move he does, slowly warming the stiff muscles of his body. Every movement hurts, of course, but not more than training during one of his migraines or finishing a battle while wounded, and he’s done those things plenty of times. He can do this too, no matter that it feels somewhat like walking to the gallows.

But it’s not. He’ll live, he reminds himself. Madara cannot demand his head. His eyes, yes, but not his whole head. The morbid thought is almost enough to make Tobirama snort to himself, walking down the road away from his home, but he restrains himself; no need to startle the others walking by. They’d likely think he was going mad, and his reputation is tarnished enough already.

Strange that this walk, one he’d made only, what, a week ago? Before he left for his mission, anyway. Strange that it feels so much longer now than it did then. He’s really very tired, and that he’s managed to conjure no better words for it than  _ very tired _ twice in a row now is a sign of that, he thinks.

But Hashirama’s chakra is green and glowing, pulsing with life ahead of him, and he fixes his senses on that and walks, one step after another. That it hurts is irrelevant. He wants to see his brother quite badly.

He loses track of time somewhat during the trip to Hokage tower, but eventually finds his way inside and up the stairs, then to the doors of Hashirama’s office. A knock, and from within his brother calls, “Come in!”

Tobirama pushes open the door and steps in, then closes it behind him. Hashirama is looking up attentively, and shoots to his feet when he sees Tobirama, shouts his name, and bolts across the room to engulf him in a massive hug. Tobirama hugs back, suddenly intensely grateful for his brother’s easy affection, and lets himself sink slightly into the warmth.

“You look terrible,” Hashirama mutters into his hair after a minute. “And I can barely feel your chakra at all, are you—of course you’re still depleted, what am I thinking. Come on, come lie down on the couch.”

Hashirama doesn’t let him argue; he scoops Tobirama up into a hold like he weighs nothing and deposits him on the couch that he keeps in his office—for napping, Tobirama has always assumed, but then his brother  _ is _ a healer at heart. He probably keeps it for others, too. It  _ is _ comfortable, though Tobirama has never sat on it before now.

“Sit still,” Hashirama says, and raises hands glowing green. The tingle of sensation that flows through Tobirama’s body from where Hashirama’s hands come to rest on his forehead and chest is familiar, that of a diagnostic jutsu, and so Tobirama submits to it easily. He’s sure his brother will give him some warning before actually  _ doing _ anything.

There are a few minutes of quiet while Hashirama concentrates, his frown growing all the while, and then he breaks off and says heavily, “Lay down.”

Tobirama frowns in response, but does as he’s told. “Is something wrong, anija?”

“A lot of things,” Hashirama says, coming to sit beside Tobirama once he’s laid out flat on his back. The couch is fairly wide, but even so Hashirama’s hip presses against Tobirama’s ribs, warm and solid. “Tobi… why didn’t you tell me about the seal?”

Oh. Tobirama just barely prevents himself from raising a hand to press his fingers to the back of his neck, where the seal once lay. Presumably it’s broken now, but perhaps the Uchiha found the remnants and told Hashirama about it? But… if that’s so, then Madara and Hashirama have already had a conversation about it. About the fact that Tobirama has the Sharingan. Hashirama already  _ knows _ .

Tobirama swallows hard. “For the exact reason that you surely now understand, anija,” he says quietly. “I knew it would cause you pain. Especially with your friendship with Madara, and knowing what would be done.”

Hashirama studies him, still frowning. “You know you could have died?”

“... I knew there was a risk,” Tobirama admits. He’s too tired, too sore, to be defensive right now. “I apologize.”

Hashirama sighs. “We don’t need to talk about this right now, because you’re hurting and tired, and I don’t want to force you to say things that you usually wouldn’t tell me. I want you to tell me because you  _ want _ to tell me. So… for now, it’s okay. But we should probably talk about what’s been going on with your body. Now that you’ve  _ finally _ let me do a proper diagnostic on you I can see the… the brain damage. You must have struggled; why not let me help? Or, never mind—just, tell me about your symptoms, please.”

“Ah.” Tobirama looks up at the ceiling. He can’t… he wants as much time looking at his brother as he can get, but he can’t do it while he says this. “Well, some of it will no longer matter when they take my eyes. However—”

“When they  _ what _ ?” Hashirama interrupts. “Did Madara say that?”

Tobirama scowls and looks back. Hashirama’s familiar, beloved face is twisted into a comical look of dismay. Maybe he didn’t know, then, but no matter. “No, he wouldn’t admit it openly, but it surely must be necessary. It seemed easier to acquiesce than to force him to fight. I would prefer not to be a disruption.”

“Tobi, Madara isn’t going to  _ take your eyes _ ,” Hashirama says. “I won’t let him, even if he thinks he needs to. We’re a village now! Someone outside their clan has their soulmate gift and that’s a  _ good _ thing.”

“I don’t want you to fight with him,” Tobirama says, soft and exhausted. He feels suddenly that he barely has the energy to speak. The chakra exhaustion is catching up to him again, he assumes. “I am okay with it, anija, I promise. My eyesight is not worth causing trouble. I can be of use in other ways.”

“It’s not about being of  _ use _ ,” Hashirama insists. “It’s about not violating your bodily autonomy and disabling you forever because of a fate you didn’t choose.”

Tobirama opens his eyes, not having realised that they had drifted closed, and forces himself to focus on Hashirama’s face. Then he has to sit up, because he’s going to fall asleep again if he doesn’t. “It doesn’t  _ matter _ , anija,” he says. “I’ve lived with the repercussions of the seal—and the knowledge of what would occur should it be undone and my gift come to light—for my whole life. I am… glad, I suppose, that the seal being gone means I will have a few extra years in which to be an asset to your dream, and I accept that the price of those years is my eyesight. My fate and whether or not I chose it has nothing to do with that. I have made the choices I could, and now the consequences of those choices have come due.”

“Tobirama, the consequences have been coming due this entire time,” Hashirama says. “I can  _ see _ the damage that the seal has done to your eyes and your brain. Whether you accepted it at the time or not, and whether you’ve found some peace with it since doesn’t mean it was really your choice—don’t forget, Butsuma was my father too. I can imagine… I can imagine. So, please, listen to me when I say that from now on I only want to do things that will help you get  _ better _ , not things that will make it worse. Removing your eyes will not make it better, and I don’t give a  _ fuck _ what Madara says: you’re not going to be blinded for his clan’s defensive pride.”

“Even if it breaks the peace?” Tobirama asks quietly, into the void of silence left by his brother’s vehemence, and then shakes his head. “To ask that is unfair. I’m sorry, anija.”

“Stop apologizing,” Hashirama says. “It won’t break the peace because I won’t let it. Now lay back down and tell me your symptoms, damn it.”

“If I lay down, I will fall asleep,” Tobirama says. 

“Fine. Tell me now, and then  _ lay down and go to sleep _ .”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, but then gives in and says, “As you know, I am no longer capable of recognizing faces. That is due to the seal. I simply… do not retain that sort of new visual information. Also, I believe my occasional migraines are related—I had light-sensitive headaches as a child too, due to my albinism, but it has grown significantly worse with age.”

“... Do you fail to retain all visual information, or just faces?” Hashirama says suspiciously.

Tobirama glances up at the ceiling again. “All visual information. My other memory is fine, so when researching I frequently read aloud, and so on.”

“Tobirama,” Hashirama says, and he sounds like he’s about to cry. Tobirama looks down and yes, he’s  _ definitely _ about to cry. Tobirama never knows what to do in these situations. 

“I’m perfectly fine, anija,” he tries. “I have adapted effectively. My chakra sense is very useful.”

“You’re definitely not fine,” Hashirama says, “but we’re not going to argue about that one right now, either. Is there anything else?”

“No,” Tobirama says. His regular, if not chronic, insomnia and nightmares, and his lack of regular appetite are simply due to his own choices and his nature, he is quite sure. He is an active shinobi, and his problems are well within the bounds of what others experience. 

Hashirama gives him a squinty-eyed look. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says. “But if you’re lying, I’m going to… do… something. It’ll be terrifying.”

“Right.” Tobirama smiles, then gives in to the urge he’s had this whole time and leans in just slightly, just enough that Hashirama softens and gives him the hug he’s desperate for and can’t quite bring himself to initiate. Tobirama doesn’t touch people, but… he does enjoy his brother’s hugs, much as he often protests them. Then, at Hashirama’s gentle nudging, he lies back down and falls almost immediately back to sleep, with his brother’s warmth right there by his side.

* * *

Hashirama sits on the couch beside Tobirama and strokes his brother’s hair for a long time. His mind is spinning, and he knows he should go back to work and let Tobi sleep, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to stop touching him, because it feels like if he does, he’ll vanish.

He just keeps hearing Tobirama say  _ I can be of use in other ways. A few extra years in which to be an asset to your dream. I have adapted effectively. _ Innocuous things, or at least Tobirama had seemed to think them so, but Hashirama’s heart aches in his chest. He’s always known somewhere in the back of his mind, shoved down because he couldn’t do much about it, that Tobirama thinks of himself in terms of usefulness and utility. It’s because of their father, and to a lesser degree because of Hashirama himself—he knows he’s treated Tobirama like a tool at times, applied him like leverage where needed, because that’s what you do when you’re at war, but he’s never felt less than guilty about it. It’s just… he’s allowed himself to forget what that kind of treatment, paired with the way other members of their clan sometimes behave like Tobirama is barely human, must have done to his brother.

And now, with this mess surrounding his soulmate gift… The one thing that should have been  _ just for Tobirama _ , a reassurance that he is human, can love and be loved, and it was turned against him so hatefully by their father. He’d been prepared to die for it, and he’s  _ glad for a few more years _ —it’s so wrong. 

Hashirama has no idea how to fix it, is the problem. He doesn’t know how, if 23 years hasn’t done the job, to convince Tobirama that Hashirama loves him for  _ him _ . Ironically, allowing him to be blinded would almost make it easier, because then at least Hashirama would be able to show that he still loved him even if he couldn’t go into the field any more… but of course, Tobirama would only ever take that as pity. It’s impossible. And anyway, Hashirama is never going to let Tobirama lose his eyes, even if it  _ does _ mean whoever many weeks or months of arguing with the Uchiha. He’s still certain that it can be done without a return to war, but it could be work, depending on Madara.

Still, when Madara had come to see Hashirama, he hadn’t said anything like what Tobirama seemed so sure was going to happen. Hashirama is fairly sure there’s been a misunderstanding somewhere, and he’s pretty sure that he can credit at least some of it to Madara being Tobirama’s soulmate. 

Not that Hashirama is actually entirely certain on that score, but years ago he’d had a conversation with Madara about soulmates. Hashirama and Mito had already figured out that they were mated and been arranged at that point, though of course they’d been several years away from the wedding, and Hashirama had asked Madara whether he had a detectable gift. Some people didn’t, like shinobi with civilian soulmates, because it got lost in their other abilities, but a lot of shinobi had other shinobi for soulmates. Madara had been sort of squirrely about it for a bit, which made sense, but Hashirama is an expert at being a pest, and he’d finally admitted that his gift was chakra sense. Even then, Hashirama had had a flash of a thought that  _ maybe _ … but there was no way the soulmate of an Uchiha with active Sharingan, especially one whose identity was so founded on his clan as Madara, wouldn’t have the Sharingan as their gift. So it couldn’t be Tobirama, whose soulmate was probably dead.

But Tobirama’s soulmate isn’t dead, and Tobirama has the Sharingan. And Hashirama has always thought that if they could get over themselves enough to get along, they might, well,  _ get along _ . He’s never said anything because he knows Tobirama would have taken his head off for suggesting it—his brother has always been very avoidant of the Uchiha clan, even more so since the peace.

Which makes sense, in hindsight. Tobirama has probably always known that he might have been responsible for his own soulmate’s death, and if not, then he’s certainly killed an awful lot of their friends and kinsfolk. And apparently he’s always harboured the fear that if any of them found out what gift he bore, he’d be blinded for it.  _ Gods _ .

It must come from their father. Probably he’d tried to tell Tobirama that he’d be killed on the spot, but even Tobirama wouldn’t believe the Uchiha to be that evil, to murder their own soulmates knowingly. He’d have logic-ed his way to some other conclusion, and the worst part is, Hashirama can even see how he decided that this would be it. It does, in a twisted way, make sense. The problem is, it’s also  _ horrifying _ .

Hashirama sighs and pauses in his absent petting of his brother to look down at him. It’s late morning now and the sunlight is spilling in, lighting pale, almost translucent skin, shining in white hair. Asleep, Tobirama looks delicate, like he’s made of porcelain and crystal, but Hashirama knows that beneath that fine surface he’s got a spine of steel. Tobirama cannot be broken or bent, which is why it was all the more terrible to watch their father bend him right out of shape and into a weapon when they were children. Butsuma had made Tobirama into something else, snuffed out the light of his curiosity and his compassion and made him cold and hard and strong. It’s a good thing in some ways; it means he survived when their younger, softer brothers did not. It means he has been here all along to be Hashirama’s support in times of need. But it also means he’s shut away from other people, maybe forever.

There will be a way out to be found somewhere, Hashirama knows that. If there isn’t, he’ll make one. He doesn’t give up on his dreams, and without his family safe and well by his side, the dream of peace that Konoha represents, his greatest dream of all, is a worthless one. He knows that Tobirama believes in it too, if only for Hashirama’s sake, but he wants his brother to live to see it and learn to love it, to learn that he  _ can _ enjoy it, that all of this, everything Hashirama has done, is for him too.

If Tobirama and Madara are soulmates, Hashirama will see them come together. He’s determined to make it so. They both deserve to be happy, they deserve  _ each other _ , and he wants his family to finally, after all this time, become  _ whole _ .

Hashirama looks away from Tobirama, who’s still asleep even after all this touching—a minor miracle, really—and toward the window, where the afternoon sun is lighting the village just like it lights his brother’s face. That light is what he fights for, what he believes in. The great equalizer, the sun, that warms and nourishes all, that every living thing depends upon and grows because of. Its light is the principle on which he tries to base all his decisions: that everyone, everywhere, deserves to grow in light and love, be warm and happy and well, and to be able to turn their face up and smile. 

He hasn’t seen his brother smile,  _ really _ smile, in a long time. It’s time to fix that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hashirama FIRMLY insisted that he wanted his internal monologue in this chapter which is sort of on brand for him but also it was annoying to write, so i hope y'all enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter! and the longest yet
> 
> for the record, I think I've used the term "prosopagnosia" twice in this fic in total, once earlier and once in this chapter. prosopagnosia is the scientific name for faceblindness, which is a real condition! i am not faceblind and don't know any faceblind people, but it's very interesting and i've heard some accounts of what it's like--the podcast radiolab has done some stuff on it, for example. 
> 
> also aaaahhhh okay this chapter is SO talky and i rewrote the talky-est scene like three times and i'm still only mostly happy with it, so, i hope y'all enjoy!

Madara goes to the shrine. The Uchiha clan shrine is new in terms of its physical trappings, but its contents are old, steeped in memory and tradition, and right now Madara needs the grounding of the familiar and the solid. He needs to be able to reconnect with something that he knows isn’t going to fall out from under his feet just like  _ every other fucking thing _ just did.

Some part of his mind is screaming that he’s an idiot and absolutely should not have left Tobirama alone like that, should have clarified and cleared up the misunderstanding, and also probably confessed the realization he’d just had as soon as he had it. Unfortunately, he did not do that. He was never going to do that, because Madara needs to  _ process _ .

So he goes to the shrine and kneels there for hours and hours, and when he finally manages to get his head something like together, he emerges to find that night is already falling. It’s definitely too late to go back to Tobirama’s house now; the Senju is sure to be asleep. However, he should probably go to the hospital and make sure that the idiot didn’t put himself under the knife like he was apparently expecting Madara to do, which, what the  _ fuck _ —he hasn’t even really gotten that far in thinking through everything that happened today, he was too busy panicking about the  _ other _ thing. 

The hospital is only a short run from the Uchiha district, at least, so Madara goes straight there and pesters a nurse until she can find him a med-nin in the surgical department, who is harried but willing to confirm that no, they haven’t seen Senju Tobirama today, why, is he sick?

“If he is,” she says, “you should really go speak to Nara Yukine. She’s Senju-san’s attending, when he makes it in to the hospital at all. She knows how to deal with him.”

“... Right. Well, he’s fine, so.” He’s definitely not fine, but Madara really doesn’t want to talk to a Nara right now, especially not a med-nin Nara, so he takes off instead. 

He heads back across the village, back home, and finds Izuna in the kitchen making omelettes for dinner, like the ridiculous egg fiend he is.

“What?” Izuna says, when Madara comes in and gives him a look. “I was craving eggs. Bite me, aniki.”

Well. Nothing for it. Madara strides across the room and briefly clamps his teeth down on Izuna’s arm, making him yelp and flail. Madara just laughs and goes to pour them glasses of water, then to take a seat at their table and leave Izuna to finish cooking.

“You suck,” Izuna mutters. “Where the hell were you, anyway?”

“Found Senju,” Madara grunts. “Then I went to meditate in the shrine.”

Izuna plates the food, then turns around to fix him with a narrow-eyed glare. “What did that bastard do now? You only go meditate in the shrine when you’re really fucked up about something.”

Madara sighs. Better make the most of it, he decides, and waits until Izuna’s taken a sip of water before he says, “He’s my soulmate.”

Watching Izuna spit water everywhere  _ is _ amusing. Worth getting a few droplets on himself, even. “ _ What _ ?” Izuna yells. He throws his hands up in the air. “What the fuck!?”

“Yeah,” Madara says heavily. He shoves a bite of omelette in his mouth and chews until Izuna stops sputtering incoherently, swallows, and continues, “I mean, I’m not a  _ hundred _ percent sure, but he mentioned very casually in conversation today that he’s a chakra sensor.”

“... There are lots of chakra sensors,” Izuna says.

“Yes, but he said  _ of significant range _ , which is ultra-polite Senju-speak for  _ fucking insane range _ , probably.” Madara shrugs. “I can feel the whole village at least, and pick up on the sparks in nearby animals, and all that’s  _ without _ completing the bond and getting the full brunt of it. And you said his Sharingan came in at the third manifestation.”

“Which suggests his soulmate has the Mangekyo, if that’s a step  _ down _ ,” Izuna sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

“So.” Madara makes a gesture with his fork and shoves food in his mouth so that he can  _ stop talking about this _ . He hasn’t even told Izuna about the  _ worse _ part yet, and isn’t sure he wants to, though if Tobirama  _ is _ his soulmate and they have to work out something resembling a relationship, all that bullshit will be coming into this house eventually. 

They eat quietly for a while, Izuna obviously mulling over what he’s just been told. Then he says, “So you talked to him, then?”

“... Sort of, yes,” Madara says. “It didn’t go well.”

Izuna snorts. “That’s not a huge surprise, aniki.”

“He doesn’t think very well of our clan,” Madara says, with a twist to his mouth. Even just thinking back on it makes bitterness swell in him once more. Tobirama had been so confident that the Uchiha would mutilate him without blinking, that they’d mutilate the  _ soulmate _ of one of their clansmen… he must think they’re monsters. No wonder he’s avoided them all so thoroughly.

Izuna tilts his head, his dark eyes gone narrow and considering. “I mean… I don’t exactly think you’re wrong, but I sort of got the feeling on our mission that maybe it wasn’t as bad as I always thought. Did something happen?”

“He thought we’d remove his eyes,” Madara says, as quickly and bluntly as he can, like pulling an arrow from a wound so that the bleeding can be stopped. “He thought that was the way we would deal with someone outside the clan having the Sharingan.”

“ _ What? _ But that would be barbaric!” Izuna cries. He gestures with his chopsticks, sending a shred of egg flying across the kitchen.

“I know,” Madara says. “And imagine how I felt, having heard him say that—that he was  _ okay _ with it, even—after I figured out…”

“Fuck,” Izuna says. He looks back down into his dinner, and quiet falls again for a while. They eat, finish their meals, and it’s not until they’re standing side-by-side doing the dishes that Izuna continues. “But you corrected him, right?”

“... Not exactly,” Madara admits. “I mean, I tried.”

Izuna turns and looks him dead in the eye, then grabs his shoulders with his wet, soapy hands and says, “ _ What the fuck _ .”

“I tried!” Madara says, holding up his hands in defence. He  _ did _ try, but with the realization that Tobirama was his  _ damn soulmate _ … “What was I even supposed to say to that!”

“Literally anything,” Izuna says. “You just walked out, didn’t you.”

Madara scowls. “Maybe.”

“Ugh.” Still heedless of the soap suds, Izuna buries his face in his hands. “Aniki, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Madara is the smart one, thank you very much, but he can admit that in this particular case he may have… made a tactical error or two. Going in angry when he  _ knew _ that Tobirama was sick and injured and therefore certain to be on the defensive was probably the first one. It’s just… something about the man really pushes his damn buttons, and hell, that’s just a sign of the bond drawing them together, isn’t it? He can never quite seem to put Tobirama out of his mind, even when thinking about him is nothing but infuriating.

“Well, we can fix this,” Izuna says. “Tomorrow you’ll go see Hashirama and make him make Tobirama calm the hell down, since he’s probably the only one who can. Then you can go from there. For the record, I’m going to stay the hell out of this so that I don’t have to think about you and Senju Tobirama  _ kissing _ or anything for as long as possible.”

“If it happens at all, it’ll be awhile,” Madara mutters, though now  _ he’s _ thinking about kissing Tobirama, and it’s a very nice image. Tobirama is beautiful, and Madara can imagine how satisfying dragging him down into a bruising kiss, gripping that narrow waist, holding his thin wrists so that—okay, he needs to  _ stop _ thinking about it, right now, thank you. “It’ll take some doing to get from him expecting me to maim him to him being willing to let me anywhere near him, even if we  _ are _ soulmates.”

Izuna grunts and turns away, back to the dishes. “Sure, sure, I just don’t want to hear about it, thanks.”

“No problem,” Madara says with a roll of his eyes, and returns to drying and putting away their clean plates and the pan Izuna used. He maintains that he’s right, for all that Izuna doesn’t really seem to believe it—being soulmates is no real guarantee. If Tobirama really is biased so strongly against the Uchiha as to believe that they would blind their own soulmates, he can’t see it being easy to build a relationship. They have to start from somewhere, but right now it feels like they’re starting from  _ less _ than scratch. 

Still, Madara has always harboured hope that he’d meet his soulmate some day. The gift had never faded, and that had been enough to foster that hope and feed it, and now he  _ wants _ . If Tobirama is his soulmate—and every time he thinks it, it feels more right—then he wants him, or at least the chance to know him, the chance to build something that could  _ last _ . Madara’s parents were soulmates, and while his okaa-san was still alive the love between her and his otou-san was deep and abiding. It’s not that Madara has never had a romantic relationship—he’s had a few affairs within the clan and had a brief fling with a civilian while on a long-term undercover mission once—but nothing that really stuck, nothing he thought  _ could _ stick. His soulmate is meant to be different, and he wants that. He returns home every night to his brother, of course, to their shared home, but it’s not quite the same as having  _ someone to come home to _ . That, a family of his own… Madara has dreamed of it. Building this village was half so that Madara could have it in safety, and this is his chance. 

And Tobirama’s, too. It’s not like Madara hasn’t noticed that the man leads an extremely solitary existence—hell, he has a damn cat and no one even knows about it. Some people prefer solitude, but every human needs  _ some _ sort of connection. There’s no way the bastard isn’t lonely. Madara had never imagined himself to be the one to break that loneliness, but… if fate says it’s him, he’ll do it. 

Izuna’s right, though, that Madara will need to talk to Hashirama first. Tomorrow morning, first thing, and if he’s going to do this right he needs to be properly rested and calm. Once dinner cleanup is done, Madara kisses Izuna’s forehead and retires early, finishes a bit of paperwork for clan matters, and then makes it a very early night, knowing he’ll wake early too.

As expected, Madara wakes to faint pre-dawn light, and has plenty of time to meditate, shake off morning brain fog, and center himself before he has to speak to the Senju brothers. Nothing about the day is going to be easy, and he  _ needs _ to be prepared. He spends an hour kneeling on his futon, breathing, then makes himself a fast breakfast, leaves rice in the warmer for Izuna, and heads out. By then, the morning has drawn on enough that Hashirama is sure to be in his office, horrible morning person that he is. He absorbs sunlight like a plant and tends to be out of his house at dawn to soak it in. Disgusting.

The Hokage tower is bustling when Madara arrives, so he heads straight to Hashirama’s office, sparing just a nod for the receptionist—and guard, not that anyone would assume as much about the mild-mannered Yamanaka woman working the post today—on the ground floor. Hashirama’s office door is, as always, closed, but Madara doesn’t wait to screw around with knocking and all, just pushes the door open. To his dismay, this means that he bursts right into the middle of what looks like a confrontation between Hashirama and his brother.

Tobirama is leaning over Hashirama’s desk, his hands pressed flat to its surface, and is in the middle of saying in a very pissy tone, “—to just  _ wait around _ while you—”

When the door opens, he breaks off and whirls around to face Madara. When he sees him, his eyes go wide, and then his entire expression blanks. Madara sighs through his nose and says, “Lovely. Just who I was looking for.”

“Uchiha,” Tobirama says flatly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Madara says. “Senju. Tobirama. Uh. Hashirama, hello, have you been filled in on the mess we’re all neck-deep in?”

“Yes,” Hashirama says. His voice is serious, but when Madara leans to the side to peer around Tobirama, who makes a significantly better door than a window, there’s a smile lurking around the Hokage’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, Madara! Tobirama and I were just discussing you, in fact. Please, why don’t you both take a seat.”

He makes a handseal and three wooden chairs stacked against the wall grow little feet and skitter across the floor to rest in front of the desk in a rough triangle. Madara fucking hates it when he does that, but he takes a seat, and Hashirama rises and comes around the desk to sit as well. Tobirama hesitates for a moment, standing still and stiff behind the third chair, and then lets out a harsh breath and seats himself. Madara studies his face; Tobirama is avoiding his gaze, so this is a great opportunity. Tobirama looks exhausted still, paler than usual, but not quite as green under the pallor—he must have recovered some from the chakra exhaustion. Whether Hashirama did something to help him along or it’s just whatever it is about Tobirama that let him recover so quickly in the initial stages, it’s a bit of a relief to see him looking better. Yesterday, half the horror of the conversation—well, okay, maybe a quarter of the horror—had been Tobirama saying all that shit while also looking more than halfway dead. 

Hashirama clears his throat. Madara looks over to see him giving Madara a very amused look, and then he holds out his hand and there’s a brief flare of chakra, and then a flower—a perfectly round, many-petalled camellia blossom, delicate pink and very pretty—blooms in the centre of his hand. Hashirama cups it carefully.

Across from Madara, Tobirama abruptly buries his face in his hands like an embarrassed child, the gesture so unusually emotive that Madara does a double-take. “Anija,” Tobirama says, muffled, “ _ must _ we.”

“Yes,” Hashirama says. “Don’t worry, Tobirama, I’m going to let you talk first.” Then he turns to Madara and says, “Madara, you’ve never done this before, so I’ll explain how it works. This,” he holds up the flower, now cupped carefully in both of his hands, “is the talking flower. When I was a kid I called it the flower of love, but Tobirama thinks that’s stupid, and for the sake of the exercise I decided to have mercy. Anyway, what happens is, only the person who’s holding the flower gets to talk, and the other person just has to listen. I’ll enforce the rules, but please respect them without that, and both of you will get to say your piece and then we can maybe  _ get _ somewhere, because I get the feeling that there’s been some miscommunication!”

Madara’s mouth drops open, and he stares for a minute, absolutely incredulous. “We’re not  _ five _ ,” he says, when he recovers himself. “Can’t we just talk like adults? What the hell, Hashirama.”

“Apparently not!” Hashirama says cheerfully. “Since my brother is under the impression that you’re going to put his eyes out, and you showing your face to me suggests you’re  _ not _ planning to do that, because you’d know better!”

About two days ago Madara stormed into this office to threaten to murder Hashirama over Tobirama’s eyes, and now he’s being threatened in return over the same. Well, turnabout is fair play, Madara supposes. He shrugs. “I still don’t see why—”

“Ah!” Hashirama holds up the flower. “I have the flower. I am now going to hand the flower to Tobirama. Tobirama, can you please start us off by explaining what exactly you expect the Uchiha to do about your Sharingan and  _ why _ . Thank you.”

He starts to hand the flower over to then says, “Oh, wait. Also, if either of you crushes the flower or destroys it in any way, you have to take ten deep breaths and calm down while I grow a new one. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tobirama sighs, sounding deeply resigned. Madara just grunts in the affirmative, because apparently he’s not getting out of this juvenile bullshit in any way other than by seeing it through, which is typical of Hashirama’s shenanigans.

Hashirama nods once, looking quite pleased with them both—the schoolteacher analogies could be endless, but that casts Madara as the recalcitrant brat, and he’s just not going there—then passes the flower to Tobirama. 

Tobirama cups it carefully between his two hands, as Hashirama had, and takes a deep breath. Then he looks up and meets Madara’s eyes. “I acknowledge that I have been acting on the basis of an assumption,” he says. “However, I believed it to be based on logic. As a child, I was given the impression by my father that Uchiha clansmen made a habit of executing those born outside the clan with the Sharingan as their soulmate gift.”

Madara scowls at that, and opens his mouth, but a sharp look from Hashirama reminds him of the rules and he subsides. 

Tobirama nods toward his brother, appreciative, then continues, “Obviously I no longer believe that, and never truly did. It would be monstrous beyond measure, and although I cannot claim to understand the Uchiha well, I do not believe you are monsters. However, it was not unreasonable that you might make effort as a clan to exercise control over who had access to your bloodline. Other clans do so, usually by capturing and incorporating non-clan members born with those gifts.

“In the case of the Uchiha, I assume that in many cases, it would be the same. However, you must have means of dealing with those who would never submit to assimilation, and because your bloodline is tied to a single part of the body,” here Tobirama reaches up and touches his fingers lightly to his cheekbone, just below his right eye, “it would also be easy to simply… excise the problem from problem cases. Particularly when it comes to myself. Your clan dislikes me, I am a known researcher of chakra and techniques, and I am perceived as a threat despite the peace, so it would be logical to ensure that I no longer had access to the Sharingan, both to protect clan secrets and to reduce the risk that I might use your own gift against you. Thus, I assumed that you would have my eyes surgically removed, and you did not contradict that assertion.”

Tobirama takes another breath, then passes the flower back to Hashirama. Hashirama says, sounding grim, “Alright. Thank you, Tobi. Now, I’m going to pass the flower to Madara in a moment to explain what his clan usually does in these cases, and what they intend to do about you. However, I want to make it clear,” and he turns to fix Madara with a stern look, as stout as an oak and twice as unbending, “that under no circumstances will my brother be blinded for the circumstances of fate.”

Fortunately, he immediately passes the flower, which means Madara actually does get to respond right away to just… all of that. “Okay, first of all, I fucked up yesterday,” he says, looking at Tobirama. “I should have been more clear: we’re not going to remove your eyes. We don’t do that.”

With that out of the way, Madara feels more able to take a deep breath and process what’s been said. It’s a  _ lot _ . However, with the flower in his hands, the other two just have to wait and let him set his words behind his teeth before he opens his lips to let them fly, which is always a good idea for him, lest he say something stupid and impulsive. In a situation like this, ‘stupid and impulsive’ is about the last thing he wants to be.

A minute of attempting to marshall his thoughts, however, mostly just demonstrates to Madara that this is a situation where he’s going to need to work it out out loud. It happens sometimes, especially with particularly tangled issues; it’s why he’s glad he has Izuna, who’s a good listener and good at cutting through knots to the heart of things.

“Right,” Madara says. “So… excuse me if I’m thinking out loud here. It seems to me that the issue is in part that you think we hate you, Tobirama. I can’t say that there aren’t individuals within my clan who hold a grudge against you, but I can speak for myself and my brother at least in saying that while we  _ acknowledge _ your strength and neither of us has, historically, gotten along with you all that well, we don’t think you’re an unsheathed blade just lying about waiting to be grabbed the wrong way. I don’t see you as a threat to myself or my clan.”

Madara quirks his mouth and glances over at Hashirama. “We’re at peace,” he says simply. “That means something to me. I don’t always like you, but I do trust you not to violate the agreements we all signed when we started building this village.”

Tobirama and Hashirama both nod at that, which is good. Madara takes another breath, meditation-slow, and adjusts his careful hold on the flower. “As for our clan customs, you’re right, we typically adopt. It’s been a long time since a shinobi with the Sharingan has been born in an opposing clan, but historically, we take those births as a sign that the time to make peace has come. Usually we arrange a marriage alliance. In your case, because this was… hidden for so long, and we made peace for unrelated reasons, yes, I assumed things would be different. Part of the reason I came to see you is because I wanted to know what  _ you _ expected, whether you wanted to find your soulmate, and so on. And to tell you off for keeping this from us all for so long.”

At that, Hashirama makes a  _ gimme _ motion for the flower, and since Madara has mostly said his piece, he hands it over. Hashirama clears his throat. “Tobirama and I have yet to have a serious discussion about the seal,” he says. “Not in detail, and not about any of the gross emotional stuff.” He gives his brother a fond look that very much implies that  _ Hashirama  _ doesn’t think it’s gross, but Tobirama being allergic to expressing himself is something that Madara would very much believe. “I’d prefer we not push too much on that before the two of us can talk about it, but it  _ will _ be talked about, by  _ all _ of us.”

Hashirama waits for them both to nod, Tobirama a bit reluctantly, then passes the flower to Tobirama. Tobirama says, “I admit I am relieved to hear that you do not… view me as a threat. On that account, I expected very little. I still expect very little. I have no intention of using the… my Sharingan very regularly, if at all. I have no training, and I believe it would unnerve people, especially your clansmen. The obvious assumption would be that I stole them.”

“The—” a sharp look from Hashirama cuts Madara off, but Tobirama hands the flower over readily, and Madara takes it as gently as he can. “The  _ obvious assumption _ would be the truth. For one, it’s well-known within my clan that a transplanted Sharingan can’t be deactivated, so that wouldn’t last long as a rumour if it ever arose. And for two, once you found your soulmate,” Tobirama twitches and raises a hand, to ask for the flower back, but Madara plows onward, “they’d be sure to make it known what the situation really was.”

Hashirama also raises a hand for the flower, and Madara hands it to him, only a little bit out of spite. “Madara,” he says, “do you have any idea who Tobirama’s soulmate might be? You’re familiar with his abilities, I assume.”

Hashirama hands the flower back to Madara, ignoring Tobirama’s outstretched hand and look of growing frustration. “I don’t know for sure,” Madara says. “That said, I’m clan head, and it wouldn’t be hard to find out. I meant to check the clan register, but, ah, I forgot.” That’s the truth in part; the rest is that he just didn’t need to, and he’s not sure when and how to admit to that second complication.

Then he sighs and hands the flower across to Tobirama, who just glares for a moment before he says, “My soulmate’s identity is immaterial. As you said, there is little point now in arranging a marriage alliance, so the matter would be between me and them. I would prefer not to discuss it.”

Madara narrows his eyes. It almost sounds like Tobirama doesn’t  _ want _ to find his soulmate, and  _ as _ his soulmate, he can’t help but feel a bit stung by that, even though he’s fairly certain that Tobirama doesn’t know. 

Hashirama holds a hand out for the flower, and Tobirama passes it. “We don’t need to go into it, but I’m sure your soulmate would like to find you, so please at least let Madara look?” he says with an imploring look for his brother. Tobirama just looks away, and Hashirama sighs. “Tobirama, I’m going to pass you the flower, and I need you to tell me what’s going through your head right now.”

He has to actively press the flower into Tobirama’s hands to make him accept it that time. Tobirama seems to have accepted this particular instance of Hashirama’s usual childish insanity to such a degree that he feels obliged to actually respond honestly once the flower’s in his hands, which… Madara is mostly impressed that Hashirama’s managed to condition him into it. On the other hand, this whole thing does seem to be working, and it’s not like he’s not playing along too. Hashirama is the Hokage at least 60% because he’s impossible to say no to, which Madara remembers primarily in moments like this.

Finally though Tobirama does have the flower mostly in his hands, and Hashirama draws his own away so that Tobirama can either grip it or drop it, and he chooses the former. Gentle, of course, and he takes a moment to stroke the petals, clearly centring himself on the soft, smooth texture, drawing in the calm. Then, very quietly, he says, “I doubt my soulmate will find me appealing.”

Madara sucks in a hard breath, and hears Hashirama do the same. That’s… a strong statement, and suggests something to Madara about what Tobirama believes that frankly seems beyond what’s possible for someone so outwardly confident, and yet… 

At Hashirama’s gesture, Tobirama passes the flower back to him, and he says, “I don’t think that’s true.” His tone is very careful. “”I’m sure your soulmate is looking for you, and they’re your  _ soulmate _ , Tobi. You’re meant to be together, and in meeting you’ll have given them a remarkable gift. Both your ability and just… you.”

Tobirama shakes his head and holds his hand out for the flower again. Madara feels a little bit like he’s watching a horrible training accident occur in slow motion. There’s nothing he can do to stop Hashirama from passing the flower, of course, and once it’s in Tobirama’s hands again he just has to sit there and listen.

“Logically,” Tobirama says, and damn if Madara isn’t coming to hate  _ logic _ , especially in Tobirama’s mouth, “my soulmate will either have received my inherent skill with chakra control—a difficult gift to suss out and useless to both a ninja, who would train control anyway, and a civilian who would have no use for it—or they will have received my sensor abilities. The latter is more useful, I must admit, but it is also a significant sensory burden and if they received even half of my range they would have an awareness of at least the entire population of Konoha at all times. Such input can be very challenging to manage, even for me, and I have years of practice. It is  _ useful _ , certainly, but I would never blame someone for considering such a soulmate ‘gift’ to be closer to a curse.”

Tobirama pauses then in the storm of justifications for why his soulmate must, what, resent him? Feel burdened by him, without even knowing who he is? And Madara takes a deep breath too, trying to reconcile all of that together. For one, his initial suspicion was correct: Tobirama’s previous casual reference to his sensor range was an understatement, and moreover his estimation of his soulmate’s range more or less matches what Madara has. His estimation of the difficulties is also true: Madara still struggles sometimes to tune out the input, especially when he’s tired, and he had absolutely brutal headaches during the adjustment period after the gift manifested. Which… now that Madara thinks about it, Hashirama knows. Madara had told him about it, once upon a time, about his gift and the side-effects it carried.

A second suspicion blooming to match the first, Madara shoots Hashirama a surreptitious look, and finds Hashirama looking back. Tobirama is distracted, fixated on stroking the petals of the flower again, and it gives the two of them a moment to lock eyes and for Madara to take in the inscrutable look on his friend’s face.  _ He knows _ , Madara realizes, or at least strongly suspects the same as Madara does. There are still no guarantees, but Hashirama’s intuition in matters like these is not to be underestimated.

Before Madara can cut in to ask for the flower back, however, Tobirama continues abruptly. “And,” he says, “to your second point, aside from my abilities I could hardly be called a ‘remarkable gift’. Even before I was damaged by the seal, my skills outside of combat were limited, and my personality has often been deemed repellent. The Uchiha in particular dislike me, and this mission with Izuna aside, I have never managed anything better than strained professionalism with Uchiha colleagues. Attempting more would likely be fraught at best. I am aware that this is as much the fault of my personal flaws as it is a faultless mismatch of natures. For these reasons, anija, I would remind you that a soulmate bond is no guarantee of anything. It may not be worth the effort to resolve the inevitable complications.”

Madara bites his tongue against shouting  _ I’m your soulmate, asshole, and it’s you saying shit like this that makes me not want to like you very much! _ Instead, he thrusts out a hand for the flower. Tobirama surrenders it with some reluctance, probably in response to the look on Madara’s face. As soon as Madara has it, he snaps, “So, what, you propose to deprive one of my kin”—or  _ me _ —”of their fated partner because of your  _ insecurities _ ? And here I was just beginning to think that you might actually have a heart in your chest, instead of a chunk of cracked ice.”

Tobirama flinches. Madara feels bad about it as soon as he’s said it, almost  _ before _ , but that doesn’t help, and neither does the sharp look that Hashirama levels on him. When Hashirama silently demands the flower, Madara surrenders it guilty, and takes the glare and Hashirama’s disappointed and aggrieved sigh without complaint.

“The point of this exercise is not for you to abuse one another while the other can’t respond in his own defence,” Hashirama says. Then, very pointedly, he passes the flower back to Madara without explicitly telling him to apologize.

Madara was going to anyway, damn it, he gets that that was out of line. Once he has the right to speak firmly back in his hands, he says, “Tobirama.” There’s a pause, and then Tobirama looks up, his red eyes guarded. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just… look, I don’t know who my soulmate is,” (closer to a lie than the truth now, but Tobirama doesn’t need to know that  _ just _ yet) “and the idea of making someone wait, maybe for the rest of their life, it bothers me. If you have a problem with having an Uchiha for a soulmate, I won’t say  _ okay _ , because it’s not. But it’s a separate problem. You shouldn’t choose  _ for _ someone.”

Tobirama nods at that, seeming like he understands, so Madara continues, “If you  _ do _ have a problem with bonding with a member of my clan, just say so.”

When Madara offers the flower, Tobirama takes it and swiftly says, “I have no problem with my soulmate being an Uchiha.” Then he pauses, and, more slowly, more quietly, says, “Beyond what I mentioned already, in any case: your clan dislikes me. You know that as well as I—you admitted to disliking me yourself—and so I could equally accuse you of cruelty for expecting me to endure a soulmate’s rejection solely for their gratification in knowing for sure. I will endure a great deal for the sake of this peace, Uchiha-san, but that, I believe, would be a bridge too far.”

Madara swallows. The kind of rejection Tobirama is referring to, pre-bond, cannot leave the kind of soul-deep wound that a rejection  _ after _ bonding inevitably inflicts, but it’s still incredibly painful. Those rejected out of hand by their soulmates are condemned to loneliness, not only for the loss of their partner—people’s soulmates die sometimes, after all—but for the stigma. To be turned out into the cold by the person who fate meant for you is to be deeply  _ wrong _ in a way that often precludes being part of society, and rumours about that sort of thing  _ always _ get out. Doing that to someone is very cruel, Tobirama is right. Madara wouldn’t do it to him, not out of hand like he seems to fear, but Tobirama doesn’t know that.

Tobirama passes the flower to Hashirama, and Madara just continues to keep his damn mouth shut. By now he’s sure that he  _ could _ be open about what he believes to be true about his and Tobirama’s connection, but past idiocy has taught him that it’s not possible to unsay something. So for now, he just listens, and tries to settle on his approach.

“Can I ask,” Hashirama says, still in that careful voice, gauging Tobirama’s boundaries, the walls he’s thrown up. “Tobirama, what did you intend to do if this all had never been discovered? If I hadn’t learned about the seal, and it hadn’t broken?”

Tobirama accepts the flower, reluctant again, and says bluntly, “I would eventually have died. Within seven or eight years the seal’s symptoms would have escalated to terminal brain damage. For several reasons, all of which I would prefer to discuss in private or not at all, I chose to say nothing. With that situation as it stood, I felt that even if my soulmate did not reject me, it would be better to spare them having to watch me die.”

Madara closes his eyes. He would never… well, maybe he  _ would _ eventually have known, on the day that Tobirama’s time ran out and Madara’s chakra sense faded away for good. He’d like to think that he’d have enough pieces by then to put it together, and even just the idea of it is agonizing. Tobirama is many things, and one of them is an asshole, and another one is  _ Madara’s fucking soulmate _ , gods damn it.

“However,” Tobirama says  _ again _ , “I was at peace with such an outcome. I realize it was selfish, but it was also… easier.”

Still with his eyes closed, heart hurting and so  _ fucking _ frustrated, Madara thrusts out a hand for the flower. Its cool, slightly weight is pressed into his palm, and he tries not to clutch at it too hard. He considers for a second just holding onto it forever, stopping Tobirama from speaking and releasing himself from having to decide, but that, too, would be selfish.

“I’m your soulmate,” he says, and opens his eyes. Just in time: he sees the moment that the words register, that Tobirama’s own eyes go wide, his shoulders flinch back, and then tension floods his frame and he goes very still and very blank. “Don’t die yet, asshole. We clearly have some shit to talk about.”

Beside him, Hashirama snorts and leans over to take the flower without asking. “I think my work here is done,” he says, and he sounds weirdly smug, the jerk. “I’m going to leave you two to talk a bit more. I’ll be with my wife if anyone needs me.”

Then he just  _ gets up _ and  _ walks out _ , closing the door of the office again behind himself. Madara manfully does not slap a hand over his face.

Tobirama, however, barely seems to have noticed his brother’s departure. He’s still watching Madara with wide red eyes, bright against his pale skin, and he looks… so damn stunned. 

Madara sighs. “There’s no way you had  _ no _ inkling,” he says. “Come on, Tobirama.”

Another beat of silence, and then Tobirama shakes his head. “I… anija mentioned once that you had some ability as a sensor. I put it out of my mind.”

“Why? You must have suspected,” Madara says. Though, maybe… fuck, maybe Tobirama  _ had _ suspected and just never said anything because he didn’t find  _ Madara _ appealing. “... Listen, if you’re not interested in me, we don’t have to—”

“It’s not that,” Tobirama interrupts. Then he looks down at his hands. “I apologize. If this all has taught me anything, it’s that I should let you speak.”

“Gods, don’t start deferring to me now,” Madara laughs. “I’ll think the world is ending. Seriously—it’s only that, well, I don’t want you to feel obliged. If you suspected all this time,  _ knew _ your soulmate was an Uchiha, and just never said anything? It’s been almost a year since we started building the village, months longer since the peace. Why the hell would you keep quiet, not even to do any looking yourself?”

“I… it’s as I said,” Tobirama says. “I never imagined my soulmate might,” he waves a hand vaguely, “want me. Especially with my gift sealed, all those complications, it was simply easier to say nothing.”

“Well, I do want you,” Madara says as definitively as he can. He’s not actually sure he  _ does _ , because he doesn’t  _ know _ Tobirama yet, but… they’re soulmates. It’s got to be worth trying.

Tobirama swallows. “I see.”

The way he says it makes Madara think he  _ doesn’t _ , actually, but they can cross that particular bridge at some future point. Right now, Madara needs to establish two things very clearly. “Look,” he says. “Here’s what I see as most important right now. First of all, I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, though we won’t know for sure unless we decide to confirm the bond, and that’s something we can do later. I don’t mind waiting until you feel more… okay with it. The Mangekyo Sharingan is a burden. And that’s the second thing—in the mean time, adoption into the clan notwithstanding, you’re going to need at least  _ some _ training so that you can activate and deactivate your eyes at will.”

“If you are willing to provide such to me,” Tobirama says quietly, “I will of course accept.”

“We’re willing,” Madara says. He’s deciding unilaterally, but the elders can suck it, to put it in Izuna’s preferred parlance. “We can arrange some sessions.”

“Thank you, Uchiha-san.”

“Madara.” Madara tilts his head, a little wry, at the nonplussed look on Tobirama’s face. “If we’re doing this, you need to call me Madara. Even if it turns out I’m wrong about the bond.”

“As you wish, Madara-san.” Tobirama takes a slow, steadying breath. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

Madara raises an eyebrow. “You can’t give me a bullshit cat excuse now that I know the cat is real.”

“No, I…” Tobirama hesitates, then seems to firm his resolve. “I am still on the edge of chakra exhaustion, and being up this early in the day, combined with the stress… I am seeing migraine auras. I have work to do, but would prefer to be somewhere dark to accomplish it.”

Madara stares, speechless.  _ Work to do _ , what? Is he  _ insane _ ? Actually, yes, what is Madara even thinking, after the last few days he can say with absolute confidence that Senju Tobirama’s primary characteristic is  _ insane _ and he barely knows the man. “If you’ve got a migraine, you shouldn’t be  _ working _ . Go home and  _ rest _ , what the hell. Come on, I’ll escort you, you can close your eyes while we walk.” 

* * *

Madara does indeed insist on escorting Tobirama all the way home. He is fine, of course; he could navigate the village blind and deaf, and a migraine has certainly never stopped him from functioning before. However, the… revelations of the day have been many and very unexpected, and Tobirama finds himself more willing than usual to tolerate the company, even in his condition. He feels somewhat less tolerant of the strange looks the two of them receive as they make their way through the village, but those he  _ should _ have expected. After all, his enmity with the Uchiha is well known, and yet Madara is visibly fussing over him.

Fortunately, Tobirama’s home is close and quiet and once the shutters are drawn it will be dark, and he can shut out everyone else and simply concentrate on whatever work he has available. He’d planned to simply push through in his office—he has blackout curtains there too, for just these occasions—but he does have some work at home. Nor can he entirely deny some amount of gratitude for being given the excuse to slack off somewhat. Just because he  _ can _ do it does not make it pleasant.

By the time they reach Tobirama’s home, the auras have progressed into a stabbing pain behind his eyes, and Tobirama gives up and closes them altogether. Madara steps closer to help him compensate, and while Tobirama doesn’t  _ need _ it, he does allow it. Their arms brush slightly as they approach the door, and Tobirama does not pull away. Instead, he pauses in the doorway and turns to his companion. “Thank you for accompanying me,” he says, opening his eyes. The light is bright, and intensifies the pain; he’s sure his expression pinches, and in turn Madara’s look shifts toward concern.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tobirama says. “This is not unusual for me.”

Madara frowns. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Leave me alone,” Tobirama says, then ducks his head when he sees the flash of irritation that passes over Madara’s face. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Yeah, it was,” the Uchiha says shortly. “You don’t need to snap at me, you can just ask.”

“I didn’t… yes, Uchiha—ah, Madara-san.”

There’s a pause, and then Madara says, “You weren’t trying to snap, were you?”

“... No.”

“Right. I forget that you’re naturally abrupt sometimes. Look, just go lay down or something, drink some water, I don’t know.” Madara hesitates, then adds, “I’ll come check on you later, if that’s okay. Maybe you could come to my house for dinner.”

“Maybe.” That sounds like a recipe for disaster more than for any sort of meal, in Tobirama’s opinion, but Madara is trying and he must too. “You’re welcome to come by.” He’s not going to say  _ any time _ .

“Sure, sure.” Madara waves, then steps back. “Later.” And in a flash of movement, he’s gone, darting up and over the rooftops toward the Uchiha district.

Tobirama closes his eyes again and turns to disarm his wards, easily done even blind. Mochi meows at him as soon as he’s in the door, and once it’s closed behind him he stoops to stroke her before divesting himself of his sandals and heading for his small home office. He can meditate for a while first to get through the worst of the migraine, and so long as he doesn’t become nauseous he’ll then be able to work.

Fortunately, Tobirama has managed to catch the migraine fairly early, and though he has no intention of admitting as such to Madara, going home rather than working in the Tower has made a difference. He can tell, when he emerges from his meditation, that although the pain is still significant, the darkness and quiet and relative distance from a concentration of chakra signatures has prevented vomiting, dizziness, or concentration issues. Tobirama rarely gets off so lightly, and it is with a faint smile even with the pain that he applies himself to reading over a set of infrastructure reports from the amenities department. 

Four hours later, Tobirama’s headache has receded significantly, enough that he doesn’t immediately consider murder when someone knocks on his door. He focuses his chakra sense and finds that it’s Hashirama standing there, rather than Madara; he probably should have suspected as much. He sighs, and then rises and executes the small jutsu he’s developed to rid himself of cat hair. Then, in anticipation of being summarily dragged back to the Senju main house for a conversation, he writes a quick note to Madara letting him know where he’s gone and that he’ll have to miss dinner, and scrawls a seal to stick it to the door on the back.

With the note in hand, he goes to the front door and opens it to greet his brother.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama says. He’s smiling, but there are still grave lines around his eyes, serious and somber; Tobirama sighs again. 

“Good afternoon, anija,” he says. He holds up the note. “I will put this up, then we can go.”

Hashirama’s smile widens and softens into something more genuine. “Thank you, otouto.”

Tobirama ducks his head. Hashirama rarely addresses him that way—he usually just uses his name or a nickname, except for when he’s feeling especially soft and affectionate. Today’s conversation and all the events leading up to it must have affected him deeply. He turns away and affixes the note with a little application of chakra to activate the seal—it will hold the chakra there the same way a shinobi uses chakra to hold themself to a tree; one of Mito’s inventions and very clever in Tobirama’s opinion—and then turns back to say, “Alright.”

Hashirama gestures for him to lead the way, so Tobirama does, taking to the roofs rather than making yet another highly-public walk through the village while being escorted by someone who is visibly hovering. If Tobirama is not careful, people will begin to assume he’s dying, and he no longer is.

Tobirama’s home is well across the village from the Senju district, which he had done by design; one day he might need to move back, in the event of his brother’s death, to take up the mantle of clan head, but until he does so he feels little guilt about his decision to get well away from the clan elders. He gets along well enough with most of the members of the clan, though many are wary of him, but the elders have never made any effort to hide their disdain for the strange, misfit secondary heir. Particularly Yoshiaki-ojiisama, who has always known the secret that Butsuma had sealed away, Tobirama’s deepest-buried deviance. Less disdain on his part, perhaps… but fear, yes. And others responded to that when Tobirama was growing up, because what beside some deep-seated flaw could make an old man fear a child who had, on the surface, done nothing wrong?

No, Tobirama did not regret moving away from his clan. He loves them, would kill or die for them to this day, but he is happy to get away. Having space from his brother’s more clingy tendencies is only a secondary benefit.

At least Hashirama is not clinging today. Probably it is out of some misplaced sense of Tobirama’s fragility, but for the time being at least he’ll accept it. He imagines he’ll get another half-hour, perhaps, and then it will be a return to being cried on.

Tobirama loves his brother, but he does  _ not _ love being cried on. 

At the involuntary shake of his head he gives at the thought, Hashirama makes an inquisitive noise, drawing up beside him as they pass over another roof and into the general area of the Senju district; the main house is just ahead.

“Only thinking,” Tobirama says quietly. “Is Mito home?”

“She is, yes,” Hashirama replies. “Making some supper, I believe.”

“Will she want to look at the seal?” It’s mostly gone now, Tobirama believes, but there are likely to be remnants.

“She took a brief look while you were sleeping last night,” Hashirama admits. “You were pretty much out, and she thought you wouldn’t want to be prodded while you were awake.”

“... That is true,” Tobirama says, though he’s not particularly pleased to learn that Hashirama and Mito used Tobirama’s having passed out in Hashirama’s office and later brought to their home to sleep off the remainder of his chakra exhaustion as an opportunity to pry. Still, it’s the kind of invasion that Hashirama is entitled to, as his older brother, his clan head, and his Hokage, and by extension Mito is entitled to the same. Tobirama’s feelings are, in this instance, irrelevant. 

Hashirama makes another small noise, but they arrive at the house just then, and he’s prevented from saying anything further by Tobirama leaping down to the door and sliding it open briskly. 

“Hashirama? Tobirama?” calls Mito from the kitchen.

“I’m home!” Hashirama calls back from behind Tobirama, ushering him inside and closing the door behind them. “Tobirama’s here.” More quietly, he adds, “Go on in, Tobi.”

“Mm.” Tobirama slips out of his sandals and heads for the kitchen, where Mito seems to be grilling fish, from the smell. When he pokes his head in, he finds that that is indeed when she’s doing, though she turns away briefly to come to him and give him a warm hug, only a quick one in deference to his boundaries, and to offer him a smile.

“You look much less like you have one foot in the grave,” she says. “How do you feel, otouto?”

Tobirama offers her a small smile in return. “Well,” he says, which is more or less the truth. His head still hurts somewhat, but not nearly as much as it had. “And you, oneesan?”

“Well,” she says. “Go sit down with my husband. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Tobirama bows his head and then goes to join Hashirama in the sitting room—he’s at the kotatsu, which isn’t strictly necessary with the warm weather, but Tobirama understands the urge toward comfort for this conversation. “Anija,” he says, settling down on his knees. He arranges the edge of the blanket carefully across them, knowing he’s fidgeting too much as he strokes the soft fabric, but not able to stop himself.

“Otouto,” Hashirama says, and reaches across the table to touch his arm very briefly before drawing back. “Thank you for coming.”

“You came to my home to fetch me,” Tobirama points out. 

“... Right.” Hashirama runs a hand over his face. “I mean, I know. I just… you didn’t  _ have _ to come, I hope you know.”

“We need to have this conversation eventually,” Tobirama says. “I am aware that you are unlikely to let sleeping—or dead, in this case—dogs lie.”

Hashirama’s mouth twists. “It’s not exactly dead if you’re going to be living with the consequences forever, Tobirama.”

“But I  _ will _ be living with them forever _. _ ” Nothing about this situation is going to change, no matter how much talking they do—does Hashirama not understand that?

“And so I want to know how to help you,” Hashirama says. “Can you tell me more? You said yesterday, memory issues and headaches.”

“Migraines, yes. I had one today,” Tobirama admits, because if he doesn’t Hashirama is likely to ferret it out somehow and be all the more displeased that Tobirama hid it. He does understand that much; it’s one of the reasons he had hoped that none of this  _ ever _ came to light. Or at least not until after his death. “I have managed my symptoms just fine without outside intervention for all these years, anija. I do not need help now.”

“Need, no,” Hashirama says. He sounds sad. “You’ve always been very independent. But you know I’m here if you  _ want _ , right?”

“I do.” Tobirama has always known that. It has never been a lack of understanding of his brother’s care for him that has prevented him from leaning on him; the opposite, in fact. Tobirama looks over and meets Hashirama’s eyes, warm and brown, for a short moment, then has to look away again. He takes in the smooth grain of the tabletop—new as of the building of the village, this table, and therefore new again for Tobirama every time he sees it. It’s very even; some of his brother’s better work. “I have always known that telling you the whole truth would hurt you.”

“I can take it.”

“That you can does not mean you  _ should _ ,” Tobirama says. The idea of his brother hurt claws at him, even just emotional hurt. “I never want to do you harm. I would prevent you from suffering for my whole life, if I could. So, this… it harmed no one but myself to keep it a secret while I was still alive.”

“And when it killed you?” Hashirama asks, sharp. Tobirama looks up again. “When it took you from me, was that not going to cause harm? Not just to  _ me _ , Tobirama, but to Touka, and Mito, and everyone. This whole village.”

“It would have been worse to discover that my death was inevitable,” Tobirama says. “Maybe there would have been a way to break the seal before its natural time, or maybe we would have learned that it would break eventually, but what if that had not been the case? That is what my own research suggested. Would it not have hurt you more to know years in advance that I would die, no matter what?”

“ _ No _ ,” Hashirama says, and he places his hands flat on the table. A familiar gesture; he’d learned young that to slam his fists down when frustrated would earn a slap from their father. “No, Tobirama, that would  _ not _ have hurt me more. Not more than finding you dead.”

“... Only possibly dead,” Tobirama feels compelled to point out. “For the sake of clarity, I would likely have fallen into a coma first.”

“And if  _ not _ ,” Hashirama demands. “What was the other possibility, Tobirama, since it seems you had this all planned out?”

Tobirama swallows. Hashirama is going to hate this, he knows, but his brother also deserves honesty. “Sudden death  _ was _ a possibility, though a slim one. More likely were seizures,” he says. “In the latter case, I would have hidden it for as long as possible, then… I had plans to take my own life, rather than force you to watch my condition fail.”

Hashirama makes a choked sound, then closes his eyes and looks away. “Tobirama. Please,  _ please _ : if you’re ever hurt so badly, you need to promise me that you will  _ come to me _ rather than just  _ giving up _ like that. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Anija…”

“ _ Promise me _ .”

“I promise.” The words are involuntary, an instant and necessary response to the desperate command in his brother’s voice. “I swear.”

“Thank you.” Hashirama lets out a sigh and looks back; there are tears in his eyes, on his cheeks. Tobirama feels his mouth go tight and firms his expression, not wanting Hashirama to know the guilt he feels for causing such pain. This is exactly what he had hoped to avoid. “Tobirama, as best as you can, I need you to tell me  _ why _ you kept this from me. Beyond just sparing me pain… there must have been a time before you thought you were going to die. There must have been, also, a reason you thought you couldn’t or shouldn’t share  _ any _ of it. You surely could have said at least that your soulmate gift was sealed, without revealing the damage.”

Tobirama tilts his head. That much is true, and years ago he had considered it. Hashirama’s medical gifts and Mito’s knowledge of sealing would have made it very difficult, but if Tobirama had insisted they not examine him, they would have acquiesced. There’s a reason they chose to examine him while he was unconscious this past night, after all; neither of them is willing to completely override his will, for all that they take certain liberties. “It didn’t seem worth it,” he says, after a moment of consideration. “Even if the seal could be broken, I knew what was behind it. Until only a few months ago, I would have been just as doomed to meet my soulmate in combat; we were at war.”

“We could have leveraged your gift for peace,” Hashirama says. “The Uchiha clearly value their soulmates.”

“I knew nothing of that,” Tobirama says. He makes a sweeping gesture with one hand, then tucks it back into his lap. “All this that we’ve learned in these past few days, I knew none of it. For all I knew, they would have taken it as a severe insult to see their eyes in this most hated face, and all hope of peace would have been destroyed.”

Hashirama makes a small noise of protest at  _ most hated _ , but says nothing in argument—there is nothing for him  _ to _ say. Whatever Madara says, Tobirama is certainly one of the Uchiha clan’s most reviled enemies, or was before the peace, and he has always been well aware of his possible reception. That Madara has seemed willing to explore their connection—no, that’s a consideration for later. Tobirama still has no idea what to do with it, and in any case it is not what he and Hashirama are discussing now. 

“Fine,” Hashirama says. “Maybe so. But you could have told  _ me, _ even if the seal remained in place.”

“Why?” Tobirama asks, honestly. “What would have been the point? I had no intention of seeking my soulmate. I was managing the symptoms of the seal, and as far as I knew breaking it could have been disastrous if it were even possible. There was nothing you could do to change either of those things, and knowing that I was… struggling, I suppose, would therefore have done nothing but cause you mental anguish.”

Hashirama scowls. “Because I’m your  _ brother _ and I  _ love you _ , Tobirama, and I want to know about it when you’re suffering, even if there isn’t anything I can do. Yes, you’re right, it would have hurt me, but it’s  _ not your job _ to protect me at the cost of yourself!”

“Yes, it is,” Tobirama says. Hashirama rocks back, surprised, and Tobirama shrugs. “Such has always been my role, anija. If I can protect you, your life and your happiness and your dream, I will. No matter the cost to me—even if the cost is my life. Nothing you say will change my mind on that score.”

Hashirama just looks at him for a minute, and Tobirama looks back. He hopes that for once his face  _ is _ conveying his emotion: that of complete confidence in what he’s said. If his whole life comes to nothing but a moment of sacrifice that preserves his brother’s happiness for even another month, or day, or minute, then it will have been worth it. He is nothing if he is not of use to those he loves, and though he knows that Hashirama would prefer to have Tobirama by his side, Tobirama is more realistic than that.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama says, finally. “My happiness is nothing without you. My happiness  _ is _ you. And while I will find a way to go on if you were to die in battle or on a mission, I would never have a full heart again. Just like a part of my heart went into the ground with Itama and Kawarama and kaa-san, a part of it would go with you. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

“I can’t promise that,” Tobirama says apologetically. “But I will do my best.”

Hashirama takes a deep, slow breath. “That’s all I ask,” he says finally. “And, please: going forward, if you’re hurt, tell me. Even if there’s probably nothing I can do, I would rather know and be able to stand by your side in times of trouble. Alright?”

There are a thousand hypotheticals that Tobirama wants to pose right now. What if things don’t work out between himself and Madara, and coming to Hashirama would mean asking him to choose sides between his brother and his best friend? What if Tobirama made a poor judgement call on a mission and coming to Hashirama would mean choosing between Tobirama and the village’s welfare? What if the situation is one that Tobirama can manage by himself, and asking for help would be childish and pointless? But he knows Hashirama doesn’t want to hear it right now, and so he just nods.

Hashirama looks at him for another moment, and Tobirama gets the sense that he knows that Tobirama hasn’t entirely acquiesced, but then he nods back. “Dinner should be ready now,” he says. “Come on. You need to eat, you’re still recovering.”

“Ah… yes, anija,” Tobirama says, startled at the sudden change of subject. He rises when Hashirama does, letting the fabric edge of the kotatsu blanket fall from his fingers, and follows him into the dining where Mito is indeed laying out the dishes. Hashirama steps over and takes the cutlery from her; Tobirama stands to the side, out of the way, while they do their customary dance around each other. They’re very in sync, have been since their meeting and mutual acceptance of the soulmate bond. Tobirama has always been somewhat envious, in truth; even now, knowing his soulmate, he’s not sure he’ll ever have this same ease with another person. He’s not sure that one such as himself is capable of it.

“Sit down,” Mito says, once the table is set. “So, how are you  _ really _ feeling, Tobirama? You look pale.”

“I had a migraine earlier,” he admits to her as well, taking a seat at the table. “No worse than is normal for me, however.”

Hashirama comes in with a plate of fish and a large bowl of steamed vegetables and sets it down, then very casually asks, “Oh, did Madara walk you home to rest then?”

Tobirama narrows his eyes. Someone must have reported to him. “Yes,” he says.

“That’s nice.” Hashirama is nearly vibrating as he seats himself.

Tobirama lets out a sigh through his nose. “Mito, Madara believes that the two of us to be soulmates.”

She smiles. “That’s nice, Tobirama. Do you intend to confirm the bond?” She begins dishing herself up some food; Tobirama is deeply grateful for her characteristic unflappability.

“We haven’t discussed it in any detail.” Tobirama takes the vegetables when she passes him them and serves himself a small portion. “And yes, Hashirama, we do intend to do so soon.” At least he assumes that was Madara’s intent in inviting him for dinner.

“That’s wonderful!” Hashirama exclaims, and then shoves a bite of food in his mouth very clearly to prevent himself from saying anything more.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Please calm down, anija.”

“That’s unlikely,” Hashirama says through his mouthful, swallows at Mito’s chiding look, and adds, “I’m very happy for both of you, you know. I know Madara has been looking for his soulmate for ages! And I think you two will be good together.”

“We will see,” Tobirama says, in as forbidding a tone as he can muster. Hashirama’s optimism about this—as about all things—will only make it harder to let him down if it doesn’t work out in the end. 

They eat their simple dinner quickly, and afterward Mito kisses Hashirama’s cheek and sends him off into the kitchen to do dishes, then fixes Tobirama with a look before he can excuse himself from the table and return to his own home.

“... Did you need something, oneesan,” he says.

“Yes. I need you to do all you can to make this work for  _ your _ sake,” she says. She reaches across the table and clasps Tobirama’s hands where they’re laced together neatly on the tabletop. “I was eavesdropping on your conversation with Hashirama—do not give me that look—and I know that for Hashirama’s sake, for the sake of his happiness and his dream, as you put it, you would not sabotage your relationship with Madara. However, I want you to try your best to also pursue  _ your _ happiness.”

Tobirama bows his head slightly toward her. “As you wish.”

“No, not as I wish.” She sighs, frustrated. “I know this is difficult to explain and to understand. It was the same for me. You know, it was my father who had this conversation with me, before I left Uzushio and came to marry Hashirama.”

Tobirama blinks at her, and she smiles. “We knew we were soulmates already, of course,” she says. “Our marriage, politically-motivated as it was, only happened in the first place because of that. Still, I struggled to… remember it, I suppose, in the time leading up to the wedding. We had never met, and I had heard some scary things about him and his clan. It was easier just to think about the advantages for my family and my clan, and not worry too much about what it would mean to be happy here.”

“... It is not being happy that I am concerned about,” Tobirama says. 

“I know,” she says. “It never is—you give very much of yourself to others, Tobirama-kun. But your soulmate is just for you.”

His soulmate is the head of his clan and the right hand of the Hokage, so he is  _ not _ in fact just for Tobirama, but he realizes that Mito will scold him for being pedantic if he says as much. “Such selfishness does not come easily to me,” he says instead.

“It’s not selfishness,” she says. Her eyes are very soft, and Tobirama can’t meet them any longer, his shoulders gone tense. “I thought the same. You must remember, though, that you are as much for him as he is for you. Love is not selfish, especially not the love that soulmates share, and I hope you will allow yourself to learn that and to enjoy it.”

Love, in Tobirama’s experience, is  _ always _ selfish, but he’s not going to say that to Mito, either. Perhaps it is only that the love he has known has nothing to do with the sort of love that other people experience. Tobirama might just be, in this as in many things to do with other people, different. He has no words to put to that worry, though, so he merely nods and accepts Mito’s concerned look and then says, “May I be excused?”

“Of course, otouto,” she says. She rises from the table as well and comes around to clasp his hands once more and use them to pull him down so that she can kiss his cheek. “You’re very strong. It will be alright.”

Tobirama knows he’s strong; it is not  _ strength _ that he fears will fail him now and in the days to come. Nor courage, even. 

“Good night, Hashirama!” he calls, when Mito releases him.

There’s a squawk and the sound of sloshing water from the kitchen, then Hashirama appears, still hastily wiping his went hands on his shirt. “Tobirama!” he says. “Good night.”

Tobirama submits to the inevitable hug, then extracts himself from his brother’s octopus-like grasp and says, “I will let you know if the situation changes.” He doesn’t want Hashirama in his business, but he and Madara gossip like old women anyway, so Tobirama might as well keep him up to date, preferably in as little detail as possible.

“Thank you!” Hashirama says, manages to snag Tobirama for one more short hug, and then lets him go. Mercifully.

Tobirama steps outside the door and then uses the Hiraishin to take himself home. He has absolutely no desire to run across the village  _ again _ today, and would very much like to retire with a cup of tea, a scroll, and his cat as soon as physically possible. He’s unlikely to sleep—his still-lingering headache is enough that he knows he’s very possibly going to have to fight through a fit of insomnia if he wants any rest tonight—but he can at least lay down and think of nothing but seal matrices for a while.

Unfortunately, he appears in his living room and senses immediately that Uchiha Madara is once again sitting on his roof.

“Of course,” Tobirama mutters, and goes to open his door. Madara has clearly sensed him in return, and is there waiting when he does, a serious look on his face.

“Come in,” Tobirama says, gesturing, and steps back from the door. “No point in your garnering all the attention of my neighbours.”

“It’s not like no one’s going to see us together,” Madara says mildly, but he does at least come in and close the door, then take off his sandals. “Though that’s more or less what I came to talk about. You skipped out on dinner.”

“Did you see my note?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I’m not mad, I know what Hashirama is like.”

Tobirama leads the way into his small living room instead of to the dining room like last time and seats himself on his couch. Madara sits down at the opposite end and turns his body to face Tobirama’s, hitching one foot up onto the cushions and letting his legs sprawl lazily open. Tobirama is sitting rigidly, but can’t help it; this is the third difficult conversation of the day, and it’s getting late.

“What did you want to discuss?” Tobirama asks, even though he knows the answer.

“We’re soulmates,” Madara says. Tobirama can feel the man’s gaze on the side of his head, but he doesn’t look over. Instead he studies the landscape painting he has hanging on the far wall of his living room. It’s of the coast; Mito gave it to him. It’s very calming.

“Yes,” Tobirama says.

“Just  _ yes _ ?” Madara snaps, and shifts so suddenly that Tobirama flinches; Madara’s hand, reaching for his arm, pauses partway there. “... Are you afraid of me, Tobirama?”

“No,” Tobirama says. That’s true, and he needs to prove it. He turns to look, to meet Madara’s eyes. Eye contact is important in these situations, for all Tobirama often dislikes it. “I apologize. It has been a long day, and these conversations are not easy. Forgive me if I’m on-edge.”

“It’s fine,” Madara says gruffly, and sits back, settling into a position where he wouldn’t be able to touch without giving Tobirama more than enough time to get away. Tobirama sees a concession to his eccentricities when he sees one, and gives a tiny nod in gratitude.

“We are very likely soulmates,” Tobirama says, after a moment. “Should I assume, then, that this means you wish to complete the bond?”

“Maybe,” Madara says. “I mean, yes, I do—but only if you do too.”

The honest answer to that is that Tobirama is certainly  _ willing _ . He respects Madara, even likes him when he’s not being insulting, and sees much in him that is admirable. He is handsome, too, and the benefit of his prosopagnosia is that he gets to enjoy those looks anew every time, without the taint of remembering that same face across the battlefield from him. He suspects, however, that willingness is not what Madara wants; and yet honesty is what he deserves, as Hashirama had deserved it earlier. “I am currently willing to do so,” Tobirama says, “though I would prefer not to achieve the necessary intimacy via sex. That said, if you were willing in turn to give me some time, I am sure I could develop more than simple respect for you.”

Madara’s mouth twists. “That’s fair, I suppose—truthfully, I think I’d prefer to get to know you a bit better first as well. Soulmate or no.”

Tobirama nods. “You mentioned training with the Sharingan.”

“That would be a good opportunity, yes,” Madara says. Then he huffs and, carefully telegraphing his movements, leans forward again. He lays a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder and pushes gently until Tobirama is facing him somewhat, and looking into his eyes, says, “For the record, I do find you beautiful.”

Tobirama swallows. “I… thank you. I—yes. You’re good looking as well, Madara-san.”

“Hard to believe it when you’re still calling me  _ san _ , but I’ll take it.” Madara squeezes his shoulder, then runs his hand down Tobirama’s arm to grab his hand and squeezes there, too. “Also, just so you know, I don’t expect perfection. I don’t really expect anything, except a chance to prove that we can do this. I’ve wanted my soulmate my whole life, you know.”

Tobirama swallows again, then nods. “I understand.”

“Do you? I think you’re so used to feeling nothing that you don’t understand at all.” Madara shakes his head when Tobirama looks away, shifts closer, and uses his other hand to guide Tobirama’s face back. “Look at me.”

“Stop.” Tobirama’s voice comes out surprisingly harsh, and to his credit, Madara  _ does _ back away immediately, releasing Tobirama’s hand and his face. “I… I apologize.”

“Don’t.” Madara retreats a little further, shaking his head. “I’m sorry too, for not giving you your space. You just asked for it, after all.”

“I’m simply unused to such touch,” Tobirama says quietly. “My brother…”

“Yeah, and no one else, I bet,” Madara snorts. “Because you’re standoffish as hell, even compared to most of your stiff-necked clan. Well, it’s okay. I’ll just need to remember that you being weird and stiff isn’t the same as it would be with one of my own clansmen.”

He doesn’t clarify that statement, unfortunately, so Tobirama just has to work with what he has. After a moment’s pause, Tobirama says, “As you say.”

“Tobirama.” Madara’s tone is different, stranger, softer; Tobirama looks up at him again and he has a similarly strange look on his face. Complicated. “It’s okay. You have your boundaries. I’ll get better.”

“If touch is something you need from me as your,” Tobirama makes a vague gesture, “soulmate, I can work on becoming comfortable.”

“In time, yes,” Madara says, “but not right now. We’ll get there together, I think.”

“Together.” It’s a comforting concept, in some ways. Tobirama has had many allies in his life, but very few partners of any sort. Still, he understands cooperation and mutual growth, and he can work on becoming what Madara needs. Perhaps, along the way, he’ll even discover what Mito meant about allowing this to be a thing just for him. She wouldn’t have said such things without reason, and Madara seems… open to experimentation. With that in mind, Tobirama takes a calming breath, and then reaches out himself for the first time. He lays his fingers gently on the back of Madara’s hand where it’s come to rest on his upraised knee, and Madara blinks at him.

Then Madara tilts his hand up beneath Tobirama’s, and their fingers slot together, so easily that it’s as if they were, indeed, made for one another. No lightning strike falls from the sky; no warmth warms Tobirama’s heart or his gut as he’s heard others describe. This is no confirmation of the bond, no perfect moment of harmony between two spirits, but it does feel indescribably right.

“Thank you,” Madara says, that steady black gaze holding Tobirama captive now, a light there that had been absent before. “All I ask is that we try.”

Tobirama quirks a small smile. “I succeed at most things I try, Madara.”

“Same here.” Madara grins, quicksilver-smooth and bright. “Guess we’re set.”

Perhaps they are, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> camellia means longing, and can also mean humility and discretion.
> 
> thank you all so much for coming along on this journey with me! to all who left comments along the way, you're the BEST, and if you're reading for the first time now that it's complete, thank you so much and don't be afraid to drop me a line below, even if it's just a little <3 in the comment box!
> 
> i will say that i MAY write more in this verse but cannot promise what or when. comments will feed the beast, but it's NaNo and i have several other major projects to finish in the next couple months, so... yeah. we'll see!

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me in the comments and/or on twitter @flippinnazguls
> 
> Also, now that y'all are past the twist I can say that this fic owes an amount, particularly certain aspects of its characterization, to Eyestealer by nirejseki, which you should absolutely go read right now if you haven't. And I'm as always indebted to blackkat for all her excellent work, but especially As Is the Sea Marvelous, which is what got me into this pairing in the first place.


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